


The Golden Cage

by writeratheart007301



Series: The S.H.I.E.L.D. Files [7]
Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Action/Adventure, Established Relationship, F/F, Mission Fic, Post-Mission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:42:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 25,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27993954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writeratheart007301/pseuds/writeratheart007301
Summary: “You’re letting meeatin yourcar?”“It’s way too hot outside.”“You,of all people, should know this well, that I could just as easily turn things hotin here…”“Minx.”
Relationships: Maria Hill/Natasha Romanov
Series: The S.H.I.E.L.D. Files [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1896979
Comments: 16
Kudos: 126





	1. The Widow’s Win

**Author's Note:**

> There ain't no change in the drill; I don't think I ever will. Standalone plot. Events independent of the earlier story "Watch Me Burn." 
> 
> _However,_ the tAg cHaNgE policy is officially effective. Sorry once again, I'm just excited. Hope I've managed to pull it off.
> 
> Thank you _so much_ for all the lovely comments on the previous story; they've been making my day for so many days.
> 
> Also, I realise that they just keep getting bigger. (The _stories,_ not anything else). And, uh, sorry for that, I guess?
> 
> Anyway, I'm going to stop my rant now.
> 
> Apologies for any typos/grammatical errors. Enjoy the story and stay safe!

#### The Widow

Prison, Natasha had once thought, was a place where one could reach the peak of profundity.

Emphasis on the _“thought.”_

Because it _so_ was _not._

_Ha, that rhymes._

Except Natasha wasn’t amused even in the least bit as she stared at the bleak walls of her cell, the sight of the paint peeling off them somehow harsher than the hard-ass mattress she was sitting on.

_Damn. Shouldn’t have used that word…_

The sharp pang in her heart was instantaneous.

Natasha’s eyes closed and all the memories flashed in her mind. Of the beautiful blue eyes. Of the devotion eternally shining in them. Of the –

Oh, wait, in case it wasn’t clear yet, Natasha was in jail. In the physical sense. As in, she was in the inmate uniform and everything.

_Okay, I think they get it._

And it was _unbelievable_ just how much she was missing a certain blue-eyed agent who she’d come to cherish more deeply than anything in the year that they’d been together.

Well, it _would_ _have_ been a year – _today,_ actually, to be precise – save for the fact that Natasha had been _here_ – in a prison in Rio de Janeiro – for the past _four fucking months._

 _Also,_ maybe it’s a good time to put it out there, that by _“being together,”_ Natasha meant _dating;_ as in sleeping-with-each-other-and-no-one-else. But being the emotionally challenged _idiots_ that they were, they still hadn’t had “The Talk.”

_She wasn’t even my girlfriend – strictly, my “girlfriend” – 4 months ago, so celebrating an anniversary is really out of the question…_

If she ever even got out of that jail, of course.

 _Goddammit,_ they were such a mess.

In their defence, it wasn’t that they’d been _avoiding_ the conversation. It just… hadn’t come up. They _were_ each other’s girlfriends, in every sense – hell, they’d been _living together,_ taking turns sleeping in each other’s quarters back at the Helicarrier – but they just hadn’t _said_ the word out loud.

And, you know what, maybe it was fine. Maybe they didn’t really _need_ the label to –

_DON’T. Just… don’t. Don’t try to rationalise your pure moron-ness._

Yeah, this was what Natasha was reduced to. Making up words.

Exhibit A (there really aren’t enough letters in the alphabet) of just how _depressingly_ pathetic they were.

And Natasha didn’t realise she’d been shaking her head until she heard the loud raps against the bars of her cell.

The door was unlocked and the prison guard walked over, grabbing Natasha’s arm and hauling her up. And Natasha simply let herself get dragged as the guard proceeded to take her out to… _wherever_ she was being taken.

(Natasha had learnt it the hard way that asking questions wasn’t the finest idea, in her current hopefully-only-semi-permanent habitat.)

The guard all but pushed Natasha as they walked out into the corridor, the baton pressing painfully against the small of her back. Their pace was much too fast, given Natasha’s injured – sprained, mostly _–_ left ankle (she’d gotten into a prison fight a couple days ago; just a minor detail) but Natasha didn’t bother protesting.

The guard was telling her something, but Natasha simply tuned her out. Honestly, the single voice that she wanted to hear right now was that of –

“Major Mary Hilton, U.S. Marine Corps.”

And Natasha lurched to halt. The sound had come from some room far away, but the sheer _familiarity_ of the voice – commanding and compelling and _comforting_ – had Natasha rooted to her spot.

And she was just about to wonder if she was hallucinating when she felt a hard jab against her back where the prison guard poked her with the baton.

_Damn, it’s real. She’s here…_

And this time when they started walking, Natasha increased her speed on her own, eager to get to the source of the voice. Her heart was beating so loudly against her ribcage, she wondered how she even managed to catch bits of the conversation as they got nearer to the room; the smile on her lips growing with each step.

And Natasha reached the parole room in the next half-a-minute and she had to remind herself to wait for the prison guard to open the door (instead of just barging right in), and she just barely managed to wipe the grin off her face.

The guard wrenched open the grilled gate and Natasha all but _galloped_ in, unable to wait anymore; the need to see _them_ overpowering her. The electric, enigmatic pair of –

_Brown eyes…?_

Natasha stared at the woman in the Marines uniform and blinked confusedly as the hazel orbs gazed back at her.

Maria was looking _beyond_ hot in those dress blues; the well-fitting slacks making her legs look miles long, and the coat hugging her lithe figure exquisitely.

The brunette’s hair was shorter than Natasha remembered it, her ponytail barely even having any volume, and she’d gotten a lot thinner, the skin over her cheekbones insanely taut. Maria also looked a tad tanned, and it made Natasha wonder just how long the taller woman had been in Brazil…

Maria cleared her throat pointedly and then arched up a brow, her expression strict but her not-blue eyes still warm: _I’m obviously wearing lenses._

And Natasha almost pouted before she realised that the prison officers were in the same room: _I know, but I want blue…_

And Maria nearly grinned herself before turning to face the Brazilian officials, her back ramrod straight. The posture was every effective, because the personnel she was addressing immediately straightened up.

“Okay, then,” Maria said, her tone authoritative, “If we’re done with the formalities, I’d like to leave with my subject.”

One of the brass members tried to say something, but the taller woman was still speaking, “Rest assured, with her rap sheet, she’s quite the hot stuff back in America too.”

And Natasha nearly laughed at the words, her entire body buzzing with elation at the sly reference to her – to _their –_ pet catchphrase.

Maria turned to look at her, and Natasha could see it clearly – the _affection –_ in the brunette’s gaze, even though her features were set in a scowl.

“Romero will be _well_ taken care of,” Maria growled, her orbs softening for just a fraction of a second before the mask was back on.

And Natasha ducked her head and finally let herself smile, her own eyes almost glazing over. In _solace._

The taller woman had used Natasha’s cover name, but it was the first time in the past 4 months that anyone had ever called it without a shred of animosity in their gaze.

And the words _themselves_ were a whole new level of soothing.

Gathering herself eventually, Natasha looked up and saw the officers nodding at the lieutenant. Maria placed the file in her hand – probably containing all the fake paperwork for Natasha’s “transfer” – onto the desk in front of the prison personnel. The lieutenant returned a clipped nod and then walked up to Natasha, reaching behind her to produce a set of handcuffs.

The taller woman took Natasha’s hands and brushed her thumbs slowly, _subtly_ over Natasha’s wrists – in _apology,_ Natasha knew – before proceeding to cuff them. But Natasha simply blinked at the brunette reassuringly, the brief touch liberating her like nothing ever could.

They were just about to start walking out when Maria’s eyes flew towards something beside Natasha. It was a _someone,_ Natasha realised, when she turned to see the prison guard from earlier all but cower as the taller woman glowered at her.

The guard retracted the hand, which had been in the process of grabbing Natasha’s arm, and backed away, burning under the lieutenant’s seething glare.

“She’s –” Maria began, her voice a snarl, and Natasha wanted her to say _mine, “– not a prisoner anymore.”_

And Natasha nearly whimpered at just how much _better_ it was than what she’d wanted.

 _“Here,”_ Maria added immediately, noticing the strange looks all the Brazilian officials were giving her.

For one terrifying second, Natasha thought that the act was going to fall apart. But then the taller woman shifted a little to face the prison officers and raised her chin defiantly; _daring_ anyone to doubt her. Or flout her.

Or _stop_ her.

And it must have worked, because the next thing Natasha knew, Maria had taken her by the arm – the action convincingly rough to anyone who was watching, but the grip devastatingly _delicate_ at the point of contact _–_ and they were shuffling out of the room.

They took a few steps before the taller woman halted and then turned to look at Natasha, the barest hint of a smile in her eyes.

“Romero,” Maria said, an eyebrow raised, “Are there any belongings of yours that you have to collect before I drag your ass back to the States?”

As gruff as her voice was, the brunette’s gaze was gentle.

Just the way Natasha remembered it. 

And she was suddenly struck by the nostalgia, and she struggled to stop her legs from shaking.

Natasha’s back was facing the prison personnel, and she allowed herself a proper grin, its brilliance somehow reflecting on _Maria’s_ face.

“Nope,” Natasha answered, her voice thick with emotions, “I have everything I’ve ever wanted.”

_And more._

* * *

They’d driven for a good 45 minutes (and several, _several_ miles away from the prison) before Maria halted the car.

Natasha had been in the back seat, one of her hands cuffed to the handrail in the car, above the window, and they hadn’t spoken to each other yet, both probably waiting to get as far as possible from the jail.

Natasha watched as the taller woman got out of the vehicle and came over to the back, opening the door near Natasha before poking her head in. Maria quickly removed the cuff around Natasha’s wrist and rubbed her thumb gently over the red, irritated skin, her gaze lowered the whole time.

The brunette looked up eventually and tugged at Natasha’s hands, pulling her out of the car. Maria led her over to the passenger’s seat, waiting there till Natasha was seated in before shuffling back to the driver’s seat.

The brunette began driving again and Natasha racked her brains for something to say. She didn’t want to go with the clichéd _how-are-you?_ followed by the perfunctory _oh-okay-and-I’m–_

“You’re late,” Maria said, putting a generous end to Natasha’s musing, “For our date. By _4 months.”_

The woman’s gaze was fixed on the road, but Natasha still turned to look at her, “Yeah, but I _did_ leave a text, though…”

“And I am _eternally_ grateful…” Maria grinned, the words dripping with sarcasm but her smile casual.

“Hey, we, uh…” the taller woman spoke again, her voice suddenly serious, “We’re still… we’re still together, right?”

She sounded so adorably anxious, Natasha almost felt like climbing over the gear stick and kissing the nervousness right out of her.

 _“Yeah,_ uh…” Natasha began, feigning solemnity in her tone, _“No.”_

Maria stopped the car abruptly, the vehicle almost skidding on the muddy road, and her head whipped towards Natasha.

“What do you mean…?” the brunette whispered, gripping the steering wheel tightly, panic etched across her features.

“I can’t be with you!” Natasha all but yelled.

And the fright in Maria’s now-hazel orbs increased even more, “But what did I –”

“I’m _already with_ someone,” Natasha cut her off, her voice back to being calm, “Someone with the most _gorgeous_ blue eyes…”

And the taller woman squeezed her eyes close, turning her face away. She leaned forward and pressed her forehead against the steering wheel, her chest heaving a little as she breathed heavily.

And Natasha immediately regretted her outright _cruel_ pretence.

_Dammit, I took it too far…_

She was just about to apologise when Maria sat up straight, her gaze fixed ahead at the road.

“Get out of the car,” the lieutenant growled, not even facing Natasha.

Natasha felt dread rising in her throat, and she willed her voice to stay stable, “Hey, uh, I was just –”

“Get _out,”_ Maria bit out, finally turning to look at Natasha, “Of the _car.”_

The bone in the lieutenant’s jaw was twitching furiously, her eyes spitting fire, and Natasha scrambled to get out of her seat.

She looked around as she exited the car and found herself in the middle of nowhere. They’d probably left Rio de Janeiro a long time back, and the endless countryside stared back at Natasha, almost taunting her.

And just when she thought the car would speed away, leaving her to fend for herself, she heard the sound of the door – of the driver’s seat, it had to be – being opened behind her.

Natasha turned around just when Maria got out of the vehicle. The taller woman slammed the door shut forcefully before walking over to Natasha’s side.

Maria had taken off her lenses, and her eyes were back to being that wonderful shade of blue, but Natasha couldn’t get herself to smile as the lieutenant approached her, her gaze and gait menacing.

The taller woman reached Natasha in a few seconds and then grabbed Natasha by the collar of her shirt. Maria clenched the fabric tightly, her fists trembling in anger, her jaw still squared tightly.

And just when Natasha thought the taller woman would hit her, Maria’s features morphed into an impish smirk and she pulled Natasha forward, covering Natasha’s lips with her own.

The kiss was soft and slow, despite how enraged the lieutenant had seemed – it had been a trick too, Natasha now realised – and Natasha couldn’t suppress the whimper at the back of her throat.

She raised her hand and cupped the taller woman’s cheek, bringing herself even closer to her while deepening the kiss, and Maria’s palm slid down and rested against Natasha’s waist, holding her in place.

And it was unimaginable just how _welcoming_ the kiss was as their lips kept moving together. Desperately, but delicately.

All those days of waiting seemed to evaporate right there as they stood in each other’s arms, in the blistering afternoon heat of suburban Brazil.

They broke apart a few _millennia_ later, both panting for breath while their gazes locked together, their faces lit up with the most _ecstatic_ grins.

“You just love pushing my buttons, don’t you?” Maria whispered, her finally _-_ blue eyes sparkling.

Natasha reached for the taller woman’s coat, fiddling with the top-most button, “Almost as much as I love _undoing_ them.”

Maria laughed fondly and her hand came up, her knuckles brushing over Natasha’s cheek, “ _God,_ I missed you…”

And Natasha covered the brunette’s hand with her own, the words not even _close_ to expressing what they’d both been feeling all those months.

She placed a kiss into the taller woman’s palm, gazing deep into the blue orbs: _I’m sorry._

For initiating the game. Of their _actually_ dumb charades.

Maria merely shook her head reassuringly, her grin gentle and kind, and then turned to open the door for Natasha once again.

She let Natasha get herself seated and walked over to the driver’s side. The car picked up speed, and Natasha leaned back and gazed out of the window, her bangs fluttering in the wind as the scenery whizzed past them.

They were pretty much driving through the rural wilderness, the thin strip of a road sandy and muddy, and Natasha couldn’t spot any civilisation – or even vehicles – within her range of visibility. She figured that Maria had probably chosen the road-not-taken to avoid running into any authorities.

Natasha turned to look at the brunette after a bit, a silly smile tugging on her lips, “That was quite something you pulled off back there, _Major Hilton.”_

“Whisking me away right from under the Brazilian police’s noses,” Natasha clarified, seeing the woman’s quizzical look, “Very smooth, I have to say…”

“We probably won’t have to put off any fire,” Maria replied, that endearing lopsided grin on her lips, “You see, us Marines, we don’t _steal._ We _tactically acquire…”_

_Ha, she made that rhyme._

And this time, it _did_ make Natasha smile, and she shook her head as she chuckled.

“Your timing couldn’t be more perfect, soldier,” Natasha whispered, still grinning like an idiot.

It almost felt like a dream, if she was being honest, to be out of jail. And _with Maria._ That too _today._

Natasha reached out and covered the brunette’s hand over the gear stick with her own. And Maria instantly changed the grip, turning their hands over and holding Natasha’s fingers, her thumb rubbing over Natasha’s knuckles.

 _“You,_ of all people, should know this well,” Maria said, an eyebrow arched up suggestively, “That I always _‘come’_ on time.”

The implied sex pun was _flawless,_ and Natasha laughed freely, making the brunette join her.

“So, _Major,”_ Natasha said, her voice filled with mischief, “I hear that you came down here to get some hot stuff…?”

“Small correction: the _hottest_ stuff,” Maria replied, just as playfully, “I mean, really, the _sun_ out here? It’s _smouldering…”_

_Oh. We’re doing it this way…_

Natasha raised her thumb and began rubbing slow – _sensuously_ slow – circles on the back of the brunette’s hand. She looked up at Maria’s neck and she could see the faint tan line just beneath the collar of the woman’s coat.

“I see you’ve made quite good use of said sun,” Natasha purred, “I’d _love_ to check out just _where all_ the tan extends…”

And Maria chuckled rather breathlessly, “Keep it in your pants, Romanoff.”

 _“Oh,_ that’s _exactly_ where I’m keeping it…” Natasha quipped, her voice low and husky, _“For now.”_

They laughed for a bit, both revelling in each other’s company, after so _goddamn_ long.

“Tell me, though,” Natasha eventually said, “How’re you here?”

“I’ve been in Brazil for a while now,” the brunette replied, her tone strangely cryptic, “I was on a mission.”

 _“Still am,_ actually,” Maria added, almost immediately.

And the way she said it made Natasha wonder if –

“It’s got something to do with _my_ op, right?” Natasha said, almost sure of it, “The one from 4 months ago…”

_The one that landed me in prison._

“Yeah,” Maria nodded, “You left quite a mess back then…”

 _“Not_ so smooth, I have to say,” the taller woman added, giving Natasha a side glance and then winking.

They chuckled for a bit, but both knew that they were on to serious business.

“I, uh…” Natasha sighed, beginning the long-overdue explanation, “It was supposed to be a routine drug bust. But, given our fucking _stellar_ luck, we ran into some uninvited guests, and a gunfight broke out.”

Natasha blew out an exasperated scoff, “And turned out, the dealer that I ended up killing was _the_ _eldest son_ of Augusto Ferreira.”

Who is Augusto Ferreira, you ask? Well, he’s –

“The founder of _the largest organised crime group in Brazil,_ you mean,” Maria pointed out, her eyes still on the road.

 _“Right,”_ Natasha replied, cringing inwardly at the memory.

“So, yeah,” Natasha resumed, “The pack was immediately sent after me. It was a full-fledged manhunt – well, _woman_ hunt, to be precise – and I couldn’t hide from them for long…”

_As ironic as it may seem, it was safer to be in prison than out in the open…_

The lieutenant must have read – and _understood –_ the thought, and she nodded, a somewhat apologetic smile on her lips.

“Yeah, I can imagine,” Maria murmured, “You _had_ to turn yourself in…”

The taller woman looked at her for a bit before shifting her focus back to driving, “I actually tried to convince Fury into sending a counterstrike team, but he didn’t agree.”

“And I sort of got it,” Maria exhaled ruefully, “The Ferreira cartel was an organisation far too large to agitate for a single agent…”

Natasha hummed in response and nodded, and then her mind suddenly got stuck on the word.

“Wait, _‘was?’”_ Natasha said, turning to fully to face the brunette, “You mean they _aren’t_ anymore…?”

“Didn’t you get the news flash?” Maria grinned a little, giving her a side glance, “I thought prison was the epicentre of this kind of gossip…”

“Oh, it _is,_ believe me,” Natasha chuckled, “I had this cellmate before…”

 _Before that prison fight happened,_ Natasha stopped herself from revealing, _and I was placed in protective custody._

“… before you bailed me out,” Natasha continued, clearing her throat discreetly, “Man… wasn’t she _chatty...”_

Natasha smiled to herself as she thought of that woman she’d shared the room with for the past 4 months. Natasha had been lucky to have gotten a regular, as-normal-as-you-could-get-in-prison cellmate (much unlike the stereotypical inmate), and every day in that room had been its own talk show session. And weirdly enough, it was one of the things that had made Natasha’s time in that jail at least a little bit bearable. 

The brunette gave her a small grin, as expected, and Natasha went on, “And I _did_ hear rumours, but I thought it was all just hearsay.”

“Well, it _isn’t,”_ Maria replied, “Most of the cartel has been subdued. Some dead, others incarcerated.”

The lieutenant sighed before speaking again, “As you know, the organisation’s workings had been deeply rooted with the country’s economics – and even its _politics –_ so we had to use the outside-in approach.”

“We began with all those smaller gangs,” Maria explained, “They were mostly dissociated – each one handling separate parts of the business – and were rather straightforward to take down.”

“Next were the important allies and key members,” the taller woman went on, “They were a bit of work, but I had help from some of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s – and my own – contacts, and we were able to get them.”

“The intel you’d sent back before getting arrested actually came in handy,” Maria said, giving Natasha a quick smile, “Or else, it could’ve taken _years_ to neutralise them all.”

Natasha barely suppressed her shudder at the thought.

She gave the woman a nod, the information – the magnitude of it – taking some time to sink in. But she quickly realised that the lieutenant was right; it must have taken Maria a significant amount of time to get all that done.

And Natasha tried putting it all together. The tan. The lieutenant’s reply from earlier, when she’d said that she’d been here for “a while now.” And, really, everything she’d just described.

“Your mission…” Natasha spoke eventually, turning to look at the brunette, her voice a whisper, “When did it start?”

“How long have you been here?” Natasha asked, almost immediately, the real question slipping out without her volition.

“I haven’t been _here,_ as in not in _Rio,”_ Maria answered, her expression somewhat sheepish, “I’ve got a place up in this town called Ouro Preto, further into mainland. We should reach there by the night. I’ve been travelling back and forth whenever required.”

“And the mission, uh…” the taller woman mumbled, “It’s been going on for the past, uh… _four months,_ give or take...”

And Natasha’s breath nearly got caught in her throat.

_She’s been here the whole time…_

Maria’s head snapped towards her, her expression suddenly tensed, “And, trust me, all this while, it wasn’t that I didn’t want to meet you. I just didn’t want to risk blowing our covers and –”

“I know, Maria,” Natasha cut her off, rubbing the brunette’s hand over the gear stick, “I understand.”

“Also, I should mention,” Maria said, her features visibly calm, “It’s not so much a _“mission”_ as it is an _independent initiative…”_

“The op’s not official,” the lieutenant clarified, “Like I told you before, Fury wasn’t ready to openly ruffle the Ferreiras’ feathers.”

The taller woman all but grimaced, “There was bureaucracy and political issues – both American and Brazilian – involved to risk any kind of screw-up or controversy.”

“But both Fury and I knew that till the cartel was active, you’d have to stay in jail,” Maria went on, “So he allowed _me_ to… _‘take some time off to pursue a personal cause,’_ or so it probably says on the records.”

“He gave me a list of assets – people with resources and skills he thought I’d require – before letting me _‘go on hiatus,’”_ the lieutenant informed.

Maria let out a chuckle and shook her head, almost absently, her gaze still focused on the road, “I think he must’ve understood that a long-distance relationship wouldn’t work too well if my girlfriend was in a _goddamn jail.”_

And this time, Natasha couldn’t stop her breath from hitching audibly.

The brunette realised what she’d ended up saying and she instantly stopped the car. She slowly turned to look at Natasha, almost as if she was fearing Natasha’s reaction. They stayed silent for a bit, the only sound being the insects chirping in the vegetation surrounding their car.

 _“‘Girlfriend,’_ huh?” Natasha said eventually, fighting her smile, her voice a tad hoarse.

“I, uh… it’s not…” Maria stuttered, and then paused to gather herself, “I didn’t mean to have this conversation right now, like this.”

The taller woman barely waited a second before adding, “And you’re not obliged to give me any kind of a reply, if you don’t wish to.”

“I’m fine – _more_ than just fine – with the way things are,” the brunette said, a small smile on her lips, “We don’t have to stick any binding labels on it at the moment.”

“You just got out of prison,” Maria whispered, ducking her head, “I would never want to put you in another one…”

And whatever admiration Natasha had for the lieutenant just got multiplied by a hundredfold. If that was even possible, at this point.

She hooked a finger under Maria’s chin and tilted her head up, yearning to see those glorious – but _oblivious –_ sapphires.

 _The incredible –_ incredible – _woman…_

“You’re an idiot sometimes, Hill,” Natasha murmured, a tiny smirk on her lips, “Because you talk too much.”

“Whereas what you _should_ be doing,” Natasha whispered, grinning full-on as she tugged at the brunette’s collar, _“Is kissing your girlfriend.”_

She waited just long enough to see the radiant smile on Maria’s – _her girlfriend’s –_ face before drawing her in and capturing her lips.

The brunette’s hand came up and she tangled her fingers into Natasha’s tresses, pulling her even closer. And Natasha could _taste_ the joy on Maria’s lips; the kiss intimate and passionate all at the same time.

“You’re my girlfriend,” the brunette hummed against Natasha’s lips.

But there was a slight lilt in her voice, like she meant that as a question, and Natasha pulled back to give her a grin.

Maria saw it and a soft smile broke out on her face, “And I’m yours.”

And Natasha’s heart stopped.

The taller woman had uttered it as though it was a divine _declaration,_ and Natasha was taken aback by the sheer _veneration_ in the blue eyes.

She cupped Maria’s cheek and tugged her forward for yet another kiss, pouring every bit of her own reverence into it.

 _She’s mine,_ Natasha thought as they devoured each other fervently, _and I’m hers._

And it really _was_ a divine declaration. Doubtless and dauntless.

“I have to say though,” Natasha murmured eventually, “Given that you’ve _obviously_ considered me your girlfriend for quite some time now, you gave me a pretty bland welcome…”

Maria pulled back, an eyebrow raised in question, and Natasha flashed her the most _carnal_ simper ever.

“I was expecting something more…” Natasha purred, pausing to bite her lower lip, _“Exciting.”_

The brunette’s eyes inevitably darkened, and then she smirked back, “You’ll be glad to know that I _do_ have something exciting for you.”

 _“Do_ you, now?” Natasha drawled, narrowing her eyes for a second, “You sure I’ll like it…?”

The taller woman leaned forward and kissed Natasha slowly, lingering for a while before coming even closer and nipping Natasha’s ear.

“It’s just been lying here for the past 4 months…” Maria whispered, her voice deliciously deep, _“… wet and untouched.”_

 _“And,_ as far as I remember, _”_ the taller woman added, smiling against Natasha’s ear, “You _love_ the taste of it…”

The words – the _prurient proposition_ in them – sent shivers down Natasha’s spine, and she nearly moaned in response.

“Then what are you waiting for,” Natasha said – _croaked,_ more like _–_ when she could find her voice, _“Give it to me.”_

Maria pulled back, and despite the haze of desire clouding Natasha’s vision, she could see her girlfriend’s lips curved up in the most _devilish_ grin.

And Natasha was baffled beyond anything when the brunette withdrew fully and then reached for the gloves compartment. Maria brought out the item and Natasha simply couldn’t help her laughter; the sound gruff but still genuine.

 _“Vodka?”_ Natasha all but snorted, “You’ve _got_ to be kidding me…”

The taller woman gave her flippant – but still triumphant _–_ shrug, “It _does_ satisfy all the conditions I mentioned…”

 _“Touché,_ Hill,” Natasha said, still chuckling at the witty trick.

It was surprising how easily – and _openly –_ Natasha had started letting the lieutenant have her victory. Then again, if there was one thing that had become clear over the year that they’d been together, it was the fact that it wasn’t _only_ Maria’s win. It was _Natasha’s_ win too.

It was _their_ win.

The thought was exhilarating, and Natasha just had to lean forward and peck her girlfriend’s lips. She pulled back quickly, grinning madly at the brunette.

Maria shot her a smile before bringing the rest of the stuff – the disposable glasses and a rather large takeout bag – out of the gloves compartment. The brunette took out the sandwiches from the bag and handed one to Natasha.

“Whoa!” Natasha gasped dramatically, “You’re letting me _eat_ in your _car?”_

“You get girlfriend privileges,” Maria replied, a silly smile tugging on her lips.

“Plus,” the taller woman added, “It’s way too hot outside.”

The opening was right there, and Natasha just had to take it.

 _“You,_ of all people, should know this well,” Natasha drawled, repeating her girlfriend’s words from earlier, “That I could just as easily turn things hot _in here…”_

She wiggled her eyebrows fiendishly and Maria shook her head at the antics.

 _“Not a chance,”_ the brunette scoffed, almost theatrically, “You spill even a drop of the sauce, and you’re out of the car.”

 _“Oh,_ relax, Maria,” Natasha whispered, grinning wolfishly, _“Sauce_ isn’t what would be spilling…”

The response was splendid, Natasha knew, and Maria laughed breathlessly, making Natasha join her.

They settled down soon enough, and the brunette growled dotingly, _“Minx.”_

And Natasha had to suppress yet another wave of nostalgia, recalling the many, _many_ times she’d made Maria say the endearing term.

“Okay, enough of talking,” the brunette spoke after a bit, “Let’s eat. You must be hungry…”

Natasha smiled, and then placed her wrapped sandwich in her lap, reaching for the bottle of vodka instead. It really was brand new, as Maria had claimed, and Natasha proceeded to open it and pour the drink into their glasses.

“Well, then,” Natasha said, holding up her cup, “To my girlfriend of less than an hour: happy anniversary.”

Maria grinned back, clinking her glass with Natasha’s, but her eyes had dimmed a little. The brunette gave Natasha’s prison clothes a once-over and that smile grew even more wistful. And Natasha could guess what the taller woman was thinking.

_It’s hardly the place – or the situation – to have an anniversary date…_

“This is messed up, isn’t it…” Maria mumbled after a bit, looking up at Natasha.

_No, it isn’t. Not with you._

Natasha took a sip of the vodka, relishing that familiar taste – after _4 months –_ as the liquid trickled down her throat; the burn searing and soothing at the same time.

Kind of like their circumstances right now.

“Yeah, it is,” Natasha whispered, the warmest smile on her lips, _“But I wouldn’t have it any other way.”_

* * *

They’d driven for another hour or so after their rather-late-afternoon lunch when the realisation hit Natasha, right out of the blue.

She turned to look at the brunette beside her, “You said _‘most.’”_

“What are you talking about?” Maria said, giving her a brief side glance before focusing on the road again.

“Earlier, when you were telling me about your op,” Natasha replied, “You said that _‘most’_ of the Ferreira cartel has been subdued…”

 _“Dammit,_ yes,” Maria bit out, her expression suddenly tensed, “It’s the most important detail, actually. Sorry, I totally forgot to explain that part…”

“So,” the lieutenant began, “You must’ve known – before you even went into prison – that Ferreira himself doesn’t call the shots anymore.”

“Yeah,” Natasha said, rather sourly, “He _‘retired’_ a couple years ago…”

Natasha let out an indignant scoff before continuing, “It’s funny how some of these mobsters just up and decide that they’ve had enough of the criminal life and then go off on pilgrimages to ‘ _atone.’_ Like _that’s_ supposed to be some kind of a redemption.”

“It _isn’t_ funny,” Maria replied, her tone just as irate, “And neither is it redeeming. In any way. Because they directly or indirectly make sure there’s someone to take over their not-so-holy deeds.”

“In _our_ case,” the lieutenant scoffed, “It’s the younger son, Lúcio Ferreira, who holds the reins now.”

“He’s the only player left,” Maria added, “He’s the glue that’s binding whatever’s left of the cartel together.”

“Ferreira had already been pissed about the death of his brother,” the brunette continued, “But with the rest of his empire being taken down piece-by-piece, he’s become outright _vindictive.”_

Natasha nodded in understanding, “He’s out for blood…”

 _“Your_ blood, specifically,” the lieutenant pointed out gravely, “He’s already tried to get you once, and he won’t be –”

Stopped. The _car_ had stopped. _Maria_ had stopped the car, actually.

Natasha turned to face the road and she saw the reason.

They were still somewhat amidst a forest, but the road had been more or less solid for the past half an hour. And right now, several yards in front of them, they found a group of policemen blocking their path; the barricade preventing them from driving past them.

 _“Dammit,”_ Maria muttered, “I really thought we’d evaded the cops.”

“Stay in the car, I’ll be back,” the lieutenant said, turning to give Natasha a quick nod, “They probably just need to verify my ID or some of the documents…”

Maria rifled through her pockets, probably checking that she had the required stuff and then exited the car.

The taller woman walked up to the cluster of policemen and Natasha watched the exchange from her seat. She couldn’t hear the conversation from the distance – neither could she see Maria’s face, with her back towards the car – and Natasha waited impatiently for the matter to be resolved.

But just a minute later, she saw the lieutenant’s posture tense up.

The change was almost imperceptible, but Natasha caught it; recognising that familiar flex of Maria’s shoulder blades.

And Natasha sat straighter in her seat as she studied the lieutenant, trying to look for any more signs of distress. Maria was still talking to the cops, but she was slowly – _discreetly,_ Natasha realised – tapping a finger against her thigh, a slight rhythm to the raps.

Natasha watched the movement carefully and she understood what the lieutenant was doing.

_She’s trying to tell me something. In Morse code._

Maria repeated the tapping once more, and Natasha instantly deciphered the message: _these men are not the police._

And the dread was instantaneous.

_Fucking hell. It’s an ambush._

Natasha gnashed her teeth and sprang into action, swiftly reaching for the gloves compartment. Just earlier in the afternoon, when the brunette had brought out the food, Natasha had seen the Glock in there – the silencer already attached to it – and she quickly grabbed it.

The chaos had already commenced by the time Natasha got out of the car.

Maria was battling some of the men while the rest were walking towards the car – probably coming for Natasha – and Natasha promptly raised her arm and began shooting, walking hurriedly towards the lieutenant.

The gang members didn’t seem to have any firearms of their own – _luckily –_ and the group approaching Natasha soon fell dead, their bodies riddled with bullets. And Natasha broke out into a jog, ignoring the pain in her injured ankle as she rushed towards Maria.

She didn’t fire at the men that the taller woman was fighting – not wanting to risk shooting Maria accidentally – and increased her pace, her body thrumming with adrenaline.

Natasha got there soon enough and kicked some of the assailants off the lieutenant. Maria already had a bleeding gash beside her eyebrow, but she gave Natasha a grim nod and then they focused on their own set of attackers.

Natasha fired the gun till she was out of bullets and then switched to using it as a blunt weapon. She’d seen the extra clips in the gloves compartment, but she hadn’t had the time to take them.

_Neither would I have had the time to actually insert them in–_

A punch to her jaw cut Natasha’s musing short. The sprained ankle was hindering her rather considerably, and she took more hits than she usually would have.

At some point, Natasha heard the sickening crunch of bones, the kick to her midsection making her wheeze for breath, and she knew she’d broken at least a couple of her ribs.

Not that it mattered, though.

She might have been out of practice, but she was still the Black Widow.

And in just a few minutes, the men she’d been battling lay sprawled in a circle around her. But Natasha didn’t wait to survey her work before whirling around to check how Maria was doing.

The lieutenant had incapacitated most of her attackers, but there were still some left, and Natasha rushed to her girlfriend’s aid. They quickly dealt with the rest of the men, and soon enough, their battered bodies fell to the ground; some unconscious, others far too beat up to move.

And the two of them turned to look at each other at the same time, their gazes instantly roving over each other’s forms to scan for injuries.

“Thanks,” Maria muttered, still catching her breath as she started walking towards Natasha.

The lieutenant’s posture was stiff – probably due to bruising – but otherwise, she looked fine. Natasha hobbled over to her, meeting her halfway.

“I really _am_ eternally grateful, this time,” Maria said, grinning as she reached Natasha.

The reference from earlier that afternoon was fresh in Natasha’s mind and she laughed fondly, her head thrown back.

But she realised it was a mistake only a second later, a jolt of pain coursing through her just-broken ribs. Natasha’s hand rose involuntarily, and she wrapped it around her midsection, her teeth gritting together.

Maria promptly came close and pried Natasha’s hand away. She lifted Natasha’s shirt, and then sucked in an audible breath; probably seeing the colourful tapestry of red and blue and black on Natasha’s marred midsection. The taller woman slowly felt around the skin, and Natasha inevitably winced, pain flaring up from her cracked ribs.

 _“Jesus,”_ Maria murmured as she looked up, concern marking her features, “You’ve broken at least two of them…”

But Natasha grinned back deviously, “I’m pretty sure it’s more than two.”

The brunette gave her a confused look, and Natasha swept her gaze around, towards the smatter of grey and black as the fake cops lay on the ground – some of them clutching their midsections and groaning – and then looked back at Maria.

“I’d say the collective count is much higher,” Natasha said, wiggling her eyebrows for effect.

Natasha cocked her head sideways as she raised her armed hand in the air, and then let go of the gun she’d been holding – _mic-drop style_ – and the taller woman chuckled gruffly, the cut beside her brow rippling with amusement.

 _“Damned smartass…”_ Maria said, shaking her head fondly.

Natasha flashed her an impish smile, and the taller woman stepped forward and bent down, her hand coming up to cup Natasha’s cheek.

But just before their lips could meet, Maria’s eyes suddenly darted towards something behind Natasha.

And then everything happened in the blink of an eye.

The lieutenant’s hand flew down to grip Natasha’s arm, and Natasha just barely caught the sheer _terror_ in the blue orbs before Maria whirled her aside with all her strength.

Natasha was thrown several steps away, the momentum of the abrupt push making her stumble aimlessly, and she heard it just a millisecond later.

The spine-chilling sound.

Of a blade piercing skin.

* * *

_No… no… NO!_

But the pained gasp followed immediately, and the block of ice-cold dread sank even deeper in the pit of Natasha’s stomach.

She wasn’t facing Maria, but she knew _exactly_ what the brunette had done.

And Natasha almost didn’t want to turn around. Didn’t want to see it. Her girlfriend’s ultimate sacrifice.

_Please… please, not her. Not her blood on my hands, please…_

Natasha steeled her nerves and then wheeled around, her teeth gritted almost too painfully.

And despite bracing herself, she wasn’t prepared for the sight and her heart leaped into her throat.

Maria was standing where Natasha had been earlier, her jaw clenched insanely tight as she glared at her attacker, dead in the eye.

Natasha lowered her gaze and she finally saw the cursed knife.

But it wasn’t plunged into the lieutenant’s body.

Maria was _holding_ the dagger – her right hand gripping the sharp end, the blood from her palm dripping onto the ground – and the tip of the blade was only a hair’s breadth away from the brunette’s midsection, just below her ribcage.

The knife was pushed even closer to Maria’s body, and the lieutenant’s hand trembled violently as she struggled to counter the man’s strength.

And Natasha recognised the bastard.

Lúcio. _Fucking._ Ferreira.

They had no idea how he’d just _materialised_ there right now, but it didn’t matter. Natasha’s eyes bored into the man, and she could feel her wrath crawling under her skin, waiting – _begging_ – to be unleashed.

 _“Don’t…”_ Maria rasped, still glowering at Ferreira, “Don’t fucking attack her _from behind.”_

“If you really have the balls,” the lieutenant snarled, the blue orbs ablaze with rage, _“Then try taking the Widow head-on.”_

With that, Maria grasped the knife tighter and then swung it away with all her might. The hilt slipped from Ferreira’s hold and the dagger clattered onto the ground, far away from either of them.

The blade still made a tear in Maria’s coat – and her _skin –_ as it was hurled aside, and the taller woman staggered backwards, her hand instantly coming up and clasping her side.

And that was the absolute fucking _last_ straw for Natasha.

The breath she’d been holding all this while escaped her lips in the form of a savage roar, and she charged towards Ferreira.

And nothing – not her injured ankle, not her broken ribs, _nothing_ – could’ve possibly stopped Natasha right now.

She was the Widow on the warpath.

 _Literally_ on the warpath.

She reached Ferreira in only a couple of seconds, and then it was all a blur.

It was as if a red, hot ball of fury had just exploded within her, and Natasha attacked the man – _bludgeoned him using her bare hands_ – with outright animalistic ruthlessness.

Somewhere in her subconscious, Natasha may have registered the movements around her – some of Ferreira’s minions stirring and rushing to help him; Maria dashing towards their car, probably to grab the clip of bullets; the silenced shots that the lieutenant then fired in retaliation – but her focus didn’t waver from her target.

Natasha was a whirlwind of _wreckage;_ her limbs working on their own accord, annihilating anyone who even came near her. And she didn’t stop until she heard the voice.

_“Natasha.”_

Her fist froze mid-air, and she blinked rapidly, her sight slowly clearing as the rest of the world re-entered her frame of vision.

Natasha looked around her, only then seeing the carnage she’d caused. Every last one of their assailants lay motionless – _dead –_ on the ground.

And Natasha lurched away from the bodies, her steps wobbly and her pulse ringing in her ears. Her back hit something – _someone_ – hard and warm, and Natasha turned around shakily, green eyes instantly locking with blue.

Maria held her gaze just as intently, the drops of sweat and blood on her face glistening in the evening sun, the wisps of her dark brown hair sticking out at weird angles.

She’d never looked more beautiful to Natasha.

And despite the destruction around them, the taller woman’s sapphires were clear and calm; a sea of peace in them, dousing the flames burning within Natasha.

The sheer _tranquillity_ in the blue eyes knocked the wind right out of Natasha, and she found her knees buckling before she could even help it.

Maria rushed forward to drape an arm around Natasha’s waist, holding her upright, and Natasha all but collapsed against the lieutenant. Her hands were shaking uncontrollably, but she raised them anyway and wrapped them around the taller woman’s midsection, hugging her tight.

Natasha burrowed further into the brunette’s body, almost instinctively, and nuzzled her nose into the crook of her girlfriend’s neck, desperately seeking that familiar scent. Of safety. Of serenity. Of _sanctity._

Of _Maria._

And the second she found it, she couldn’t hold back anymore, and the sobs just erupted from her throat; raw and rabid.

Maria pulled her even closer, and Natasha fisted the fabric of the brunette’s shirt in her hand as she buried her face into the woman’s neck, her body trembling hopelessly in her girlfriend’s arms.

And Natasha just cried.

In grief. In disbelief. In _relief._

And it was a whole eternity later when she could make out the soft words that the taller woman was whispering into her ear, a hand tenderly cupping the back of her head, another one stroking her back.

“It’s over, Natasha,” Maria hummed, “It’s over…”

Natasha slowly pulled out of the embrace, but the taller woman kept her hand on the small of Natasha’s back, the weight gentle and grounding.

“Thank you,” Natasha rasped, her voice heavy with emotions and her throat dry.

Maria blew out a light huff, “Come on, Natasha, you would’ve done the same for –”

 _“No,”_ Natasha croaked, drilling her gaze into the brunette’s, _“Thank you.”_

_For not letting yourself get... for not…_

She could hardly get herself to even _think_ about it.

She ducked her head, and the movement made her eyes land on the tear in Maria’s shirt; the cut partly visible through it, just beneath the taller woman’s ribcage.

The gash was long – starting near the centre and tracing the lieutenant’s lowest rib all the way to her right – but it wasn’t bleeding too much, and Natasha hoped that the wound wasn’t deep.

The taller woman must have sensed Natasha’s anguish, and she hugged Natasha once more, her hand running down the column of Natasha’s spine soothingly.

“It was either that blade or your remorse,” Maria murmured, her voice almost haunted, “I couldn’t let _either_ kill you…”

“I told you earlier today, Natasha,” the brunette whispered, a soft sigh escaping her lips, _“I would never want to put you in another prison…”_

And Natasha finally understood what this was. The feeling that was coursing through her. The feeling, she now realised, that had _always_ been coursing through her.

Filling her. Emptying her. _Healing_ her.

 _Freeing_ her.

The thought – the _truth –_ couldn’t be more tangible to her.

Natasha pulled apart and looked up at her girlfriend, “I –”

“Need to rest,” Maria cut her off, her expression suddenly worried.

Natasha followed the brunette’s gaze and they found themselves looking down at Natasha’s almost _morbidly_ swollen ankle.

Just like that, Natasha’s brain registered the pain, and she moaned inadvertently, her whole body suddenly aching and sore. The taller woman wrapped her arm around Natasha’s waist, steadying her, and they shuffled over to their car.

Maria gently lowered her onto the passenger’s seat before crouching down before her, examining the ankle. She felt around the inflamed skin, and Natasha bit the inside of her cheek to stifle her whimper.

“It’s not a fracture,” Maria mumbled, “Probably a severe ligament tear…”

The brunette looked up at her, but Natasha could only nod in response. Maria straightened herself and walked over to the driver’s seat. She returned just a few seconds later with a water bottle in her hand and brought it near Natasha’s lips.

Natasha instantly accepted the drink, her throat parched after the ordeal. She watched her girlfriend over the rim of the bottle, and she found the last vestiges of the adrenaline draining away. Maria simply waited there, gazing back softly as Natasha thirstily gulped the water, and then took the bottle from her once she was done.

And Natasha opened her mouth to speak, but her voice was drowned out.

By the loud rumble of cars.

Their heads whipped towards the source of the sound and they found a small convoy approaching them, with rifles – _goddamn Kalashnikovs –_ sticking out of their windows; the Chevrolet SUVs advancing way too fast for them to even try outdriving with their own basic sedan.

The panic returned in full-force and Natasha’s head snapped towards the taller woman, but she found Maria’s expression composed.

“It’s okay,” the lieutenant said, looking at her, “They’re on our side.”

Natasha observed her for a bit, her brows furrowed confusedly, and the understanding dawned upon her eventually.

_They’re the assets. And the contacts._

The cars soon reached them, and Maria gave her a quick nod before walking over to them. The lieutenant was gesticulating towards the bodies, and Natasha knew that she was instructing the guys to do the clean-up.

And all the questions hit Natasha all at once. 

_How did they know where to come? And how did they get here so fast?_

_Or maybe,_ Natasha pondered, _they were already supposed to be here, and they’re actually_ late…

She waited for Maria to come back, her mind swimming in the doubts, trying to piece all the happenings together.

The taller woman turned around soon enough and began walking back to the car, and Natasha’s eyes suddenly caught on the dried blood caking Maria’s face. As if on cue, the lieutenant’s lips briefly twitched in irritation, and Natasha smiled despite everything, knowing all too well that the brunette was itching to get the grime cleaned.

_Well, the questions can wait for a bit._

Maria got to the car in the next few seconds, and Natasha reached for the water bottle that her girlfriend was still holding.

The taller woman arched up an eyebrow: _didn’t you just drink water…?_

Natasha’s gaze flitted towards the cut right beside the brunette’s raised brow: _it’s not for drinking this time…_

Maria quickly understood, and she passed the bottle to Natasha, kneeling before her again. Natasha slowly turned around in her seat, for bringing out one of the still-folded napkins from the gloves compartment – Maria had _(futilely)_ tried to get them to use the serviettes during their lunch, to, you know, protect the precious seats from the sauce – and then shifted back to face her girlfriend again.

Natasha unscrewed the bottle and then held the brunette gently by her chin, slowly pouring a bit of the water onto the wound near her eyebrow. Maria stayed perfectly still as Natasha dabbed the napkin around the gash, wiping away the blood. Natasha proceeded to clean the rest of the dust and dirt off the brunette’s face before stashing the bottle and the cloth away.

She looked towards Maria again, and found the taller woman still in the same position, her lips curved up in a thankful – an _unnecessarily_ thankful – smile. Natasha returned it anyway and then reached for the brunette’s hand.

“You knew it, didn’t you?” Natasha said, ensuring that her voice was soft, “That we were going get ambushed…”

“Yeah,” Maria sighed, her eyes fixed on their hands, “I’d expected it to happen, but not so soon…”

_Ah, hence the delay in the cavalry reaching here…_

The brunette’s gaze suddenly flew up, “I wasn’t trying to hide it from you. I just got distracted earlier, and I forgot to tell you.”

Natasha squeezed her girlfriend’s fingers and shook her head reassuringly, and the woman’s features relaxed, just a tad.

“And earlier,” Natasha murmured, “When we were talking, before the attack, you said that Ferreira tried to get me once…”

Maria ducked her head again, her thumb ghosting over Natasha’s bloodied knuckles, “It happened a few days ago…”

And Natasha understood immediately.

She involuntarily sucked in an audible breath, “That prison fight…”

“Yeah,” the brunette exhaled, looking up, “It wasn’t just some petty inmate squabble. It was a premeditated attempt to take you out.”

“But how do you even know about it?” Natasha said, the words tumbling out of her mouth, “I didn’t tell you myself…”

“Your cellmate,” Maria answered, her expression somewhat nervous, “She was an informant…”

And Natasha’s heart twinged with the sweetest pain.

_She’s been watching over me all this while…_

“It was Fury’s doing,” the taller woman added, “One of his subtle ways of helping, I guess…”

The lieutenant chuckled wryly, “It was probably Fury-nese for _hope-you-have-a-pleasant-stay…”_

Natasha wanted to laugh at that – she _would_ have, on any other occasion – but she could only manage a grimace right now.

“I’d told your cellmate to not let you know about our arrangement,” Maria said, her voice small, “I wasn’t sure how long it was going to take for things to clear up out here, and I didn’t want you getting your hopes up only to be disappointed.”

Natasha nodded wordlessly and gave the brunette’s fingers yet another squeeze, sensing the woman’s distress.

“So, yeah,” Maria went on, sighing miserably, “I found out about the attack and I’d just had enough.”

“The whole point of you being in jail was to keep you out of danger,” the taller woman said, her tone vehement and frazzled, “But if you weren’t going to be safe in there as well, then you might as well be free…”

 _“… and with me,"_ Maria breathed, her voice cracking as she dropped her head.

 _“And_ _I know,”_ the brunette mumbled, not facing Natasha, “I know it was selfish of me to want that…”

“And maybe, I shouldn’t have brought you out of that jail,” the lieutenant rasped, penitence spilling from her voice, “Shouldn’t have brought you out in the open, right in the line of fire…”

“But I… I just…” Maria choked out, shaking her head, “I couldn’t stand it if –”

Natasha got off her seat and dropped to her knees, taking the brunette into an embrace.

Maria let out a surprised sound, the force of the hug nearly tipping her backwards, but she stabilised them and wrapped her arms gently around Natasha. The taller woman’s chin fell onto Natasha’s shoulder, and Natasha could feel the brunette’s breaths against her ear; rickety and rapid.

And this time, Natasha was the one calming her girlfriend, her hand rubbing soft circles on the brunette’s back as her body quivered heartbreakingly in Natasha’s arms.

And Natasha wanted to tell her. The selfishness that she spoke of…? There was a term for it.

_A term that’s nobler than I knew…_

But Natasha could hardly push down the lump in her throat, her eyes getting misty again at their utterly destitute circumstances.

“It’s okay, Maria,” Natasha whispered eventually, “You did everything right. You came through for the team…”

_For the nth time, really._

Natasha kept stroking her girlfriend’s back, and the tremors slowly evened out. Maria pulled out of the hug, and they just… _looked_ at each other. Drinking in the sight. After four _agonisingly_ long months.

The moment was interrupted when one of the guys approached them and cleared his throat. The taller woman helped Natasha get back into her seat before turning to face the man.

The guy had a rather boyish face, and he looked way too young to be involved in this kind of business. And for a second, Natasha wondered just how he’d gotten himself caught in it.

Maria began relaying some final instructions to him, and Natasha watched as the guy listened to the lieutenant with rapt attention. The taller woman finished talking, and he promptly nodded in obedience, his posture almost deferential.

“Wait,” Natasha said, just before the man could leave, and the brunette looked at her, her forehead knitted together.

Natasha reached into their car and plucked the keys out of the ignition before facing them.

“I seem to fancy Chevrolets,” Natasha said, her eyes darting towards the SUVs in the convoy.

“So, kind Sir,” Natasha said, smiling at the guy as she held the keys in front of him, “Would you mind switching…?”

Maria and the man grasped the plan quickly, and he grinned back warmly before accepting the keys. He reached into his own pocket and handed the taller woman the keys to one of the SUVs.

“You know what to do with the car…” Maria said, shaking the guy’s hand firmly.

“Yes, Lieutenant Hill,” the man replied, his accent hard to place… maybe Middle Eastern, maybe Central Asian, “And I hope we’re even now…”

The taller woman’s eyes flickered for a bit before she nodded in response. The exchange was _conspicuously_ cryptic, and Natasha wondered just how – and _how long –_ they knew each other.

But as much as she wanted to know, she wanted to get the hell out of here _first_. And so, when Maria reached for her, gently hauling her up and tugging her towards their new car, Natasha wordlessly let herself get pulled.

The taller woman went back to their earlier car, gathering only the vital belongings she’d stashed in there, and brought them over to the SUV. They bid the men a farewell – the _final_ farewell, Natasha knew – and then Maria revved up the engine, driving out of there.

“That was a good call; getting rid of the old car,” the lieutenant spoke after a bit, giving Natasha a quick side glance, “My men will probably set the whole scene to make it look like an accident, or an encounter. We’ll find out in the news tomorrow…”

“Why do you keep forgetting, Hill,” Natasha replied, the swagger back in her voice, “That your girlfriend is a genius?”

And for some unfathomable reason, Maria all but burst out laughing, fully and freely. And Natasha didn’t even know _why,_ but she found herself joining her girlfriend.

There was long stretch of the road ahead that was clear, and the taller woman leaned over to Natasha’s side and pecked Natasha’s lips, her eyes shimmering as she pulled back and shifted her focus back to driving.

“What was that for…?” Natasha murmured, breathless from the laughing (and even the kiss, somehow).

“Nothing, actually,” Maria replied, still chuckling a bit, “I just… I really, _really_ missed you.”

And Natasha just had to smile, the words but an echo of her own heart’s voice.

“I meant what I’d told that guy, though,” Natasha said, “I really _do_ like Chevrolets.”

“Specially _yours,”_ Natasha added, smirking lightly, “The one back in New York.”

She took her girlfriend’s free hand in hers, mindful of the gash on her palm, and squeezed her fingers slowly, “We’ve done some _dirty_ things in it…”

“Oh, I remember,” Maria replied, her voice lined with mischief, “That time when you dropped your coffee all over the seat…? _God,_ it took me _forever_ to get rid of the stain…”

Natasha smiled to herself, remembering the… _eventful_ (to put it delicately) evening from months ago.

“To be fair,” Natasha protested half-heartedly, “You _made_ me drop the coffee…”

“It was _hardly_ my fault,” the brunette retorted, giving her a side glance, “You looked _hot_ that night, in that black dress.”

“You bet I did,” Natasha grinned back, “As hot as that coffee. Which spilled all over the seat _and_ your lap…”

They chuckled for bit, both of them sighing collectively at the fond memories.

“Also, speaking of food,” Maria said, “What would you like to do for dinner? It’ll be night by the time we reach the city, so we could go to some restaurant, or I have some leftover pasta from yesterday at my place, if you’re okay with that…”

It felt surreal, really, to be casually discussing dinner plans right now, when less than 12 hours ago, Natasha had been staring at the grey walls of her cell. And for a second, she marvelled at how her life had changed in just a single day.

_More than just physically…_

Natasha’s gaze fell on their entwined fingers, and she felt a tug in her heart at the sight of the brunette’s blood-covered hand.

But she brought up the hand anyway and pressed a soft kiss on her girlfriend’s knuckles, “Wherever your heart desires, soldier, take me there…”

_With you, I’ll go just about anywhere._

* * *

“Did he just –”

“Oh, yeah, he _really_ did.”

Natasha pressed her lips into a thin line, somehow stopping herself from laughing as she watched the taller woman exit the car, grumbling under her breath.

Finally exiting the deserted woods, they’d just entered the town with Maria’s house. But it was pretty late and they both were far too hungry to scout for a restaurant that would be open at this time, or even to wait till they got to the house and heated that pasta.

So, they’d stopped by the first street food stall they’d found right now, choosing to simply go for a makeshift meal.

 _But,_ the hawker behind the cart had seen them through the car’s window, _gawked_ at them – at their sullied, _bloodied_ appearances – and then he’d all but _shooed_ them away from his stall.

 _Hence,_ the grumbling.

Maria walked over to the guy, scowling and growling at him, and Natasha didn’t bother curbing her laughter this time. It was just so damn hilarious – and _cute –_ to watch the lieutenant all but harrumph at the hawker.

The brunette’s haranguing prevailed eventually, and she walked back with the food, a silly smirk tugging on her lips. Maria handed one of the dishes to Natasha and then climbed into her seat, still grinning at her little victory.

“That was quite something you pulled off back there, _Major Hilton,”_ Natasha teased, for the second time that day.

“I don’t even know why the guy was so rude,” Maria muttered, almost absently, “All we wanted was some food…”

_Ha, she made that rhyme. Again._

And Natasha leaned forward all but reflexively, stealing a kiss from her girlfriend. Maria simply flashed her that endearing lopsided grin before they dug into the food.

“So, tell me,” Natasha spoke after a bit, “How’s everyone else back at S.H.I.E.L.D.?”

“I haven’t been in touch with anyone, really,” Maria replied, looking up, “But Barton used to call once in a while.”

“The last time we’d spoken,” the brunette continued, “He’d been with his family, spending some time with his son.”

And Natasha smiled almost instinctively. She didn’t really fancy babies – the _Black Widow_ didn’t really fancy babies – but Cooper Barton had to be the cutest and _liveliest_ one ever.

And the kid seemed to have a thing for Maria, for some reason. They’d visited the Bartons several times in the past year, and Cooper would all but _light up_ when the lieutenant carried him. It was like igniting a firecracker and watching it go.

And, much to _everyone’s_ surprise, Maria seemed to adore the kid too. She’d always indulge him, let him pull her bangs, talk to him – _legitimately_ talk to him, like he was a grown adult – and then listen to the kid’s senseless babbling with equal interest. It was a whole other side of the agent – the _hard-ass_ agent – that Natasha had gotten to see and experience.

And Cooper liked Natasha too. (Of course, what’s not to like?). But she’d be a hell of a lot more anxious _(deathly afraid,_ more like) when she’d hold the child, as though he was some ticking time bomb that would go off any second.

“You know, the kid just said his first word,” Maria said, bringing back Natasha’s focus, “It happened last week, right when Barton had called me.”

 _“‘Dammit,’”_ the taller woman said, chuckling for a bit, _“That_ was the word. _“Dammit.”_ I mean, with that mouth, the kid’s going to give Barton a hard time…”

“He’s probably learnt the word from _you,_ you know,” Maria added with a smirk, “What, with your constant _dammit-Laura-he’s-going-to-pee_ and _dammit-Laura-he’s-going-to-puke_ …”

Natasha shuddered at the very _real_ fears, “There’s a _lot more_ where that comes from…”

“You do know that the kid just wants to lick your face, right?” the brunette deadpanned.

Natasha flashed her a silly grin, and they laughed together, shaking their heads. But Maria’s gaze mellowed after a bit, and the unsaid _I-wish-you-were-there-at-that-time_ hung rather heavily in the air.

They smiled at each other once more before shifting their focus back to their dinner. They stayed silent till they finished the food, and then the brunette gathered their dishes. She walked out of the car and disposed them, returning in just a few seconds.

Maria gripped the steering wheel, but she didn’t start the car immediately. Natasha reached out with one hand and nudged the woman’s arm, making her turn and look at her.

“I, uh…” Maria began, her voice small, “I realise that _I_ haven’t asked you a single question all this while…”

Natasha smiled back, “Ask away, soldier, you don’t need my permission…”

“I really have just one question,” Maria said, her voice dropping to a whisper, “How are you?”

And Natasha’s heart stopped at just how heart-warmingly – heart- _breakingly –_ earnest the brunette looked.

And Natasha could read the actual question in the sapphires: _how have you been, all these months?_

“I’ve been –” _desperately waiting for this day,_ Natasha wanted to say, _“– bored,_ mostly.”

She added a flippant smirk, and Maria gave her a half-grin. But the blue eyes dimmed for a second, as if the brunette had heard the silent confession.

“Well,” Maria exhaled, her smile turning mirthful, “I’m sure you got enough action today to make up for the last four months.”

The reminder would’ve been painful, but then Natasha took in the brunette – alive and well and _grinning –_ and she found the bitterness fading.

“I _did,”_ Natasha replied, her own smile _insolent_ , “But it’s hardly the kind of _‘action’_ I’ve been craving…”

She wiggled her eyebrows, and Maria shook her head exaggeratedly, her grin patronising, “It’s always about sex, isn’t it…?”

And Natasha reached for the brunette’s collar and tugged her closer, kissing her with a loud smack.

“With _you,”_ Natasha whispered, still fisting the fabric, “It’s _never_ been just about sex…”

Maria’s smile widened, her features all but radiant, despite the bare minimum lighting inside the car. Natasha let go of her collar, and the taller woman pulled back, her hands reaching for the steering wheel again.

“So,” Maria said, looking towards Natasha, “Do want anything else? _Dessert,_ maybe?”

_Dessert. “Dessert.” Ha._

The woman had basically _handed_ Natasha the next sex joke.

And the brunette _knew_ that, Natasha realised, seeing Maria’s raised eyebrows.

The taller woman added a grin: _go on, say it; I know you want to._

But then Natasha thought back to her own words, from less than a minute ago, and the quip died on her lips.

“I already told you earlier today, soldier,” Natasha replied, her voice bold but her gaze soft, “I have everything I’ve ever wanted.”

* * *

“What are you –”

 _“Relax,_ I can _see_ the house, it shouldn’t be too difficult.”

Natasha kept looking at the brunette while speaking, trying to reassure her, but Maria simply raised an eyebrow, _clearly_ sceptical.

They’d reached the lane with Maria’s house, but the SUV was too large to get into the narrow street, so they’d parked it at the end of the road.

And they were (low-key) glaring at each other right now, because Natasha was _insisting_ that she could walk the distance to the brunette’s house, about halfway down the street.

_I mean, it should be just 50 metres…_

Maria helped her get out of the car, and the second Natasha’s injured foot touched the ground, she felt the pain shoot up all the way till her brain.

She barely smothered her wince, but stood up straighter, gripping her girlfriend’s hand tightly. Natasha took the next step, but the agony had somehow multiplied itself, and she turned her face and pressed it into Maria’s shoulder, muffling her scream.

And before she’d even regrouped, Natasha felt her body tilt and she was lifted in the air, bridal style.

Natasha’s hand automatically curled around the taller woman’s neck, but she yanked at her collar, “What are you –”

 _“Relax,_ I can _see_ the house,” Maria replied, smirking as she echoed Natasha’s reply, from just a minute ago, “It shouldn’t be too difficult.”

Natasha grinned at the role-reversal – the _word-for-word_ role-reversal – and then the taller woman started walking.

And Natasha could only watch her girlfriend’s face; her jaw squared resolutely as she pushed down her pain, her own wound probably getting jostled with each step.

They reached the house much faster than expected, and Natasha helped the taller woman bring out the keys from her pocket and unlocked the door.

Maria stopped for a bit, toeing off her boots at the entrance, and Natasha followed suit, smiling – at her girlfriend’s _adorable_ obsession with not-getting-the-whole-world’s-filth-inside-the-house – even though the action made stabs of pain radiate from her foot.

Maria then shuffled further inside, and Natasha swept her gaze around the interior of the house. It was a small two-bedroom-hall-kitchen place, and it was adequately furnished, with a couch, a TV (Natasha doubted it had been used) and a dining table in the living room.

They passed (what had to be) the study – the desk in there stacked with files and maps and a whole lot of technical equipment – as Maria trudged over to the bedroom. And they’d just entered it when Natasha twitched in the brunette’s arms, making the woman halt in her tracks.

Maria looked towards her for a bit, her features etched with concern, and then adjusted her grip a little, shifting Natasha more snugly in her arms.

The movement must have made the gash on Maria’s midsection get chafed, and Natasha _felt_ the taller woman wince, her body jerking a bit and her eyes squeezing close for a second.

The brunette turned her face away, but Natasha could see her blinking rapidly, her jaw clenching and unclenching, her breaths deep and ragged.

_Dammit, she’s in pain…_

“What…” Maria murmured, turning to look at her, “What is it? Am I hurting you?”

_Yes. By making me watch you –_

_“Never,”_ Natasha whispered, eager to ease her girlfriend’s worry.

Her hand came up on its own accord and she caressed the brunette’s jaw, as if that would take away some of her girlfriend’s agony.

“I just, uh…” Natasha spoke again, somewhat gingerly, “I need to pee…”

Maria chuckled at that and resumed walking, in the direction of the washroom this time. She lowered Natasha to the ground slowly, and Natasha flashed her a thankful smile before hobbling inside.

She came out in a couple of minutes, but the brunette wasn’t there. Natasha figured she must have gone to get… _something,_ and she turned to glance towards the bed, just a few metres away.

“Don’t move.”

The command came before Natasha could even raise her foot.

Maria walked up to the bedside table, kept the stuff in her hand – two ice bags and other medical supplies – onto it, and then shuffled over to Natasha. The taller woman lifted Natasha once again and briskly deposited her onto the bed, adjusting the pillows to let her lean against the backrest.

Maria sat down at the edge of the mattress, beside Natasha, and Natasha noticed the strange grin on the brunette’s lips, the blue eyes gazing at her in awe.

“What are you thinking?” Natasha said, smiling a little herself.

Maria shook her head fondly, “I’m wondering how you just… _listened_ to me right now, without arguing back…”

It was _very_ out of character, Natasha knew. But then again, she also felt like she’d do _anything,_ if the taller woman asked her to.

Because she knew that Maria would _never_ ask her to.

The thought was edifying, and _electrifying,_ for some reason, and Natasha found herself smiling incurably. 

“I kind of had to follow your order,” Natasha replied, grinning cheekily, “I _am_ your prisoner, remember?”

 _“Major,”_ Natasha added, winking at her girlfriend.

They chuckled for a bit before the brunette’s expression sobered; her features hard despite the smile on her lips.

“You’re many things to me, Natasha,” Maria said, her voice soft, _“Have been_ many things to me…”

The taller woman’s hand came up and she shifted a strand of Natasha’s hair away from her face.

“An assassin, who’s more repentant than she chose,” Maria whispered, “An agent, who’s more _impudent_ than she knows…”

The words were poignant, but also pertinent. And _pleasant,_ somehow, coming from the taller woman.

“Ha,” Natasha murmured, grinning widely, “You made that rhyme…”

And the brunette laughed, her eyes crinkling at the edges. She leaned forward and brushed her lips gently against Natasha’s before pulling back.

 _“My girlfriend,”_ Maria added, her sapphires shining, “Who’s more _innocent_ than she shows…”

And Natasha drew her in for another kiss, impossibly charmed by her girlfriend’s smile. And the fact that she’d maintained the rhyme scheme this time too _._

Maria pulled back, her orbs brimming with affection, “But you were _never_ my prisoner…”

_And I won’t ever be._

It wasn’t a promise. It was a _prophecy._

They grinned at each other for a while before the taller woman got up and gathered the stuff she’d brought over.

She handed one of the ice bags to Natasha – for the cracked ribs – and then shuffled over to the end of the bed, sitting down beside Natasha’s feet. Maria gently lifted the injured foot and placed a pillow under it, and then began pressing the other ice bag around the swelling slowly, her forehead furrowed in concern.

And Natasha simply let the brunette continue the ministrations, knowing that _she_ needed it more than Natasha.

And neither of them would know how much time had passed before the ice bags reverted to room temperature. Maria promptly stood up and set both of them aside before reaching for the medical supplies.

The taller woman applied some anti-inflammatory cream over the sprain and then proceeded to wrap Natasha’s foot up in a crepe bandage. Maria then came over to the front and lifted the hem of Natasha’s shirt to spread some of the same cream over Natasha’s bruised midsection, her fingers moving lightly but firmly over the discoloured skin.

The taller woman collected all the materials once she was done and stashed them away before walking over to the washroom. She returned a few minutes later and then trudged towards the door of the bedroom. And Natasha just had to stop her. From going to… _wherever_ she was going.

“Hey,” Natasha called out, and the brunette turned around.

Maria came over to the bed, “Yeah? Do you want anything?”

 _“You…”_ Natasha replied immediately, her hand reaching out and holding her girlfriend’s.

The taller woman’s gaze softened, and she walked around the bed, lowering herself onto its other side once she’d reached. Natasha slid herself down the mattress slowly and they laid beside each other.

And Maria’s eyes closed the second her back touched the bed, her features going slack with relief and a ragged sigh escaping her lips. And Natasha knew that she was tired and in pain too; the stress finally crashing down as the day came to an end.

Maria opened her eyes in a bit, but they suddenly looked dull – _exhausted_ – as she turned onto her side to face Natasha. And Natasha could see the fatigue – _four months’_ worth of it – on her girlfriend’s face, her eyelids drooping as she gazed back at Natasha.

And Natasha could understand that. Because Maria had been through just as much of a hell as her.

_Maybe even more than me…_

And Natasha felt that bittersweet ache in her heart. At the realisation of just _how much_ the brunette had done for her. _Was doing_ for her, without so much as a frown on her face…

And Natasha could understand _this_ too. Because she knew, deep down, that Maria hadn’t done anything _just_ for her. She’d done it for _them._ And the lieutenant was right about what she’d said earlier that evening.

 _I would’ve done the same for her, if our positions were switched._

The thought was placating, but it didn’t do much to reduce the pining of the past months, and Natasha found herself suppressing a sigh.

“Just so you know,” Natasha whispered weakly, her own weariness weighing down on her, “I really, _really_ missed you too.”

_More than I even knew was possible…_

The taller woman raised a hand, smiling deliriously, and brushed her knuckles gently over Natasha’s cheek.

Maria gave her another dopey grin, her orbs fighting to stay open, “I can’t wait to take you home…”

The hand fell limp onto the mattress, in front of Natasha’s face, right after the brunette mumbled the words. Maria’s eyes fluttered close just a second later, and Natasha knew she’d fallen asleep.

Natasha leaned towards the brunette, ignoring the brief pain in her broken ribs, and placed a lingering kiss on her girlfriend’s forehead, her gaze never leaving Maria’s face as she pulled back.

She kept watching the taller woman – a portrait of peace – for a while, the way she used to, four months ago; letting the sight lull her towards oblivion.

But before she could slip into it, Natasha had to say them, even though her girlfriend wasn’t going to hear them.

The three words that were her reality right now.

“I _am_ home.”


	2. The Soldier’s Sin

#### The Soldier

_This one. I should go for this one. Or maybe not. Maybe I should –_

“Just take _both_ of them.”

The guy behind the counter rolled his eyes as he chided Maria.

And his exasperation was rather justified, actually. Because Maria had been standing in that bakery for the past _8 minutes,_ and she _still_ hadn’t decided what she wanted to get.

Because she couldn’t remember. Couldn’t remember if Natasha liked her donuts chocolate-frosted or cream-filled.

Maria had gotten up absurdly early that morning, per routine – the habit had inadvertently developed over the past 4 months – and she’d realised that her fridge was woefully empty. Apart from the stale pasta, there was nothing in there that she could’ve used to whip up a decent meal.

So, Maria had freshened up and showered and then driven out here – _after_ leaving a note and an extra set of the house keys for Natasha, like a responsible and caring girlfriend – to get them breakfast and then some groceries for the rest of the day.

But she couldn’t. Remember. What. Natasha. Liked.

_Quite the responsible and caring girlfriend, aren’t you, Hill?_

It was ridiculous, really, how she’d forgotten that detail, considering that she’d teased Natasha a _billion_ times over the past year about her weirdly childish liking for desserts. And yet, there she stood, staring at the two piles of donuts, unable to decide which one to get.

_It’s one of them. For sure, it’s one of them. But which one, goddammit?_

Maria heard the guy grumble again and she hastily stacked up her tray with _both_ the donut types, shaking her head as she walked over to the cash counter.

_You’re an ass, Hill._

Maria could imagine the Russian’s retort in her mind (“No, Hill, you’re a _hard-ass!”),_ and the silly grin on her lips was just a reflex.

She dropped by the market and grabbed the rest of the stuff before driving back to her house.

To _her girlfriend._

_God, that’s never going to get old…_

* * *

Maria got back soon enough and exited the car, shifting the bags to her uninjured hand as she walked down the road to her house.

Unlocking the door rather hurriedly, Maria took off her shoes and shuffled inside the house, hoping that the redhead was still resting.

And she hadn’t even closed the door behind her when she found herself being semi-tackled; a firm set of hands pushing her shoulders, making her back press against the wall beside the entrance.

Maria looked down and found Natasha – fresh out of a shower, wearing tights and one of Maria’s West Point shirts (how ever did she even manage to do all of that on her own), with her flaming red tresses left loose – grinning back at her devilishly.

And before Maria could even speak, the shorter woman took the bags from Maria’s hand, tossed them onto the couch in the living room, and then grabbed the same wrist.

Natasha pinned the hand against the grills on the window beside her, her eyes still fixed on Maria’s face, and Maria understood what the redhead had done when she heard the tell-tale metallic click.

Maria tried to move the hand, and – as expected – she felt the cold surface of the handcuff holding her wrist back.

“Really, Natasha?” Maria said, cocking up an eyebrow, “Is this how we’re going to play…?”

The Russian smirked back deviously, “I’m just teaching you what I’d meant by an _‘exciting welcome’_ yesterday…”

Natasha hooked a finger through one of the belt loops on Maria’s pants and pulled herself closer, nibbling at the spot right below her ear, and Maria automatically arched her neck, granting the shorter woman access.

“The _knowledge,_ you see…” Natasha whispered, the grin clear in her voice, “… is _‘binding.’”_

And Maria couldn’t help but laugh at the pun.

“I’m surprised it took you so long to crack a prison joke,” Maria said, still chuckling a little.

 _“Four months,_ Hill…” the Russian lamented, rather melodramatically, “I went without vodka for _four months._ I guess, it just took a while to kick in…”

And the opportunity for the next quip was _right. There._

“How’d you not get any alcohol all this while, Romanoff?” Maria said, barely curbing her grin, “I mean, you were _‘behind the bars,’_ weren’t you?”

And the redhead laughed heartily, her head thrown back and her shoulders bouncing with amusement.

Maria raised her free hand and shifted the tresses away from her girlfriend’s face, “ _I think,_ you just missed me so much that it made you lose your mojo…”

The shorter woman immediately covered Maria’s hand with her own and pressed her lips against Maria’s injured palm; the kiss feather-light but still doting, despite the bandage covering the wound.

 _“Guilty as charged,”_ Natasha murmured, her gaze infinitely soft.

And Maria felt a tug in her own heart, despite the pun.

She gave the redhead’s cheek a gentle caress, a reassuring smile on her lips. Natasha returned it as she lowered Maria’s hand, and then reached for the hem of Maria’s t-shirt. Maria immediately held the Russian’s wrist, stopping her from lifting it, and Natasha’s gaze flew up.

 _“Please,”_ the redhead whispered, the fire in the emeralds pensive and palpable, “You didn’t let me see yesterday…”

And Maria knew. Knew what the shorter woman wanted to see.

She left Natasha’s hand and the Russian lifted the shirt, her fingers shaking a little. And Maria kept her eyes on her girlfriend’s face, not bothering to follow her gaze.

Maria hadn’t covered the gash beneath her ribcage with a bandage, and she heard it just a few seconds later; the hitched breath escaping the redhead’s lips as her eyes must have landed on the injury.

The shorter woman’s hand came up and her fingers fluttered over the wound. The cut wasn’t so deep and it didn’t even hurt (that much), but Maria could still _feel_ the redhead’s remorse, her features pained.

Natasha let go of the shirt and looked up, her expression as shattered as it had been yesterday, _“Thank you…”_

And Maria just had to bend down and kiss the redhead, desperate to soothe her girlfriend. Natasha’s hands came up and she held Maria’s face tenderly, her lips moving gently, _reverently_ against Maria’s.

They kept kissing each other, both devouring each other hungrily, and neither could care less about how much time passed.

But Maria soon felt the shorter woman’s leg tremble against hers, and she knew that Natasha’s sprained ankle was probably making it harder for her to stand on her own for too long.

Maria promptly wriggled her bounded wrist, her fingers stretching to reach the concealed button on the handcuff, and then pressed it. The device instantly came apart, and Maria raised her freed hand to wrap it around Natasha’s waist, catching her just before her leg gave away.

The redhead grasped Maria’s other hand as she steadied herself, and then she gawked at the palm on her hip.

“How…” Natasha murmured, looking up at Maria, “How did you get out of the handcuff?”

“A magician never reveals her secrets,” Maria replied, a lopsided grin on her lips.

But the redhead grabbed the collar of Maria’s shirt, tugging it lightly, “Tell me…”

Maria picked up the fallen device and showed the redhead the hidden clasp, demonstrating the unlocking mechanism.

“They aren’t real handcuffs,” Maria answered, smiling at the shorter woman, “They’re just props, specially designed for our little elopement act…”

And, for whatever reason, Natasha’s eyes widened even more, the emeralds overflowing with awe.

“So then yesterday, when you cuffed me…” the redhead mumbled breathlessly, “You mean, the whole time… the whole time I was –”

“Why is it so hard to grasp, Natasha?” Maria whispered, her own eyes mellow, “I already told you last night: you were _never_ my prisoner.”

And the shorter woman yanked at Maria’s collar, pulling her down, and captured her lips. Maria kept one hand securely draped around her girlfriend’s waist, mindful of her cracked ribs, while the other one rose and cupped the redhead’s cheek; the kiss intent and intense. And _intimate._

And Natasha’s smile couldn’t have been more _incandescent_ when she pulled back and hummed the words.

_“I love you.”_

And Maria forgot to breathe, her lips parted in shock.

She kept staring at the Russian’s face, her heart thundering in her ribcage as she waited for the trick. Or the take-back.

Natasha must have read the disbelief, and she brought her hand up, her knuckles tenderly tracing the bone below Maria’s eye.

 _“I love you,_ Maria,” Natasha whispered, her eyes glittering with devotion, “And before your mind even goes there, this isn’t some heat-of-the-moment confession. Or an I-just-got-out-of-jail-and-I’m-high-on-hormones confession.”

“I might’ve just _seen_ it, but I’ve _felt_ it for months,” Natasha said, her voice as sure as it was soft.

“And I wanted to tell you yesterday itself, _so badly,”_ the redhead added, ducking her head, “But the… the circumstances were…”

The shorter woman shook her head and let it trail off, and Maria could guess the unsaid.

_The circumstances were just too messed up…_

“I wanted to give you the perfect moment,” Natasha breathed, their gazes locking as she looked up.

“But I’d forgotten…” the redhead said, chuckling briefly, “I’d forgotten that _every_ moment is perfect with you.”

And Maria felt her heart surging with warmth.

“You have this hold over me, Maria…” Natasha went on, her smile radiant, “It’s so damn strong and staunch; it never lets me drift away.”

“And yet,” the redhead exhaled, her eyes glazing over, _“It sets me free.”_

And the words were all but a _prayer._

 _“You_ set me free,” Natasha added, her orbs ablaze with veneration, “With what you do. With what you _don’t_ do. _With what you are…”_

“You accept those dark parts of me that _I_ detest _myself_ , _”_ the Russian said, her voice a tad grim, but her smile genuine.

“You _accept_ them,” Natasha repeated, her brows raised for emphasis, “Not _overlook_ them…”

And Maria’s hand rose without her volition, the fingers stroking the shorter woman’s jaw. She wanted to say something, but her voice was caught in her throat and she could barely even breathe.

“And you’re always doing this thing…” the redhead continued, her grin incurable, “You’re always leaving the door open for me. Always allowing me to run…”

“But you don’t seem to realise,” Natasha said, her voice a quiet whisper, _“That I have nowhere else to go.”_

“Nowhere else I _want_ to go,” the Russian immediately corrected.

“So here it is, Maria,” Natasha exhaled, her voice heavy with emotions, _“I’m in love with you.”_

The redhead gazed at Maria intently, her grin bold and brazen, “Recklessly, _remorselessly_ in love with you…”

And Maria could only gape at the shorter woman; moved – so _indescribably_ moved – by her girlfriend’s heartfelt revelation.

“You’re an idiot sometimes, Romanoff,” Maria croaked eventually, “Because you talk too much.”

They were Natasha’s own words from yesterday, and the redhead recalled them instantly, her eyes lighting up.

And Maria expected to see it in the green orbs; _the anticipation_. To hear the words. To hear the words _from Maria._

But she didn’t find it.

And Maria understood why.

_She already knows. Already knows that –_

_“I love you too,”_ Maria murmured, renouncing every thought of making her girlfriend wait.

And the smile on Natasha’s face outshone the brilliance of a thousand suns.

And Maria just had to bend down and cover the redhead’s lips, every cell in her body buzzing with bliss.

With _love._

Natasha’s hand instantly came up and she cupped the back of Maria’s head, pulling her closer and deepening the kiss.

“That was a phenomenal speech,” Maria hummed against her girlfriend’s lips, “But I have some notes to give you…”

The Russian pulled back, inevitably chuckling, _“Of course,_ you do.”

And Maria couldn’t decide where to start.

“Those dark parts that you mentioned,” Maria began, diving right into the eye of the storm, “Whether you like them or not, they’ve made you what you are _today.”_

“The woman whose tenacity is transparent,” Maria said, pride slipping into her voice, “Whose _integrity_ is _inherent…”_

“Ha,” Natasha piped up, her eyes twinkling, “You made that rhyme.”

And just like she had last night, Maria marvelled at how the woman could find joy in something so inane.

 _… whose vivacity is vibrant,_ Maria wanted to add.

But then she dropped the thought.

_Don’t try so hard, Hill. Just go in for the kill._

“And I’m in love with that woman; with _you,”_ Maria breathed, grinning at her girlfriend, “Hopelessly, _helplessly_ in love with you...”

And Natasha gave her yet another breath-taking smile, her eyes _effervescent_ with devotion.

“I see it in you every day, Natasha; _the will,”_ Maria went on, “The will to do better. To _be_ better.”

“But you can’t see…” Maria said, her gaze drilling into the redhead’s, “Can’t see that you _already_ _are…”_

_You already are virtuous. More than you’ll ever know…_

Natasha’s eyes glazed over, a sheen of tears shrouding her emeralds. Maria bent down and placed a reverent kiss on the shorter woman’s forehead, and the redhead leaned right into it, like she _still_ needed that validation.

And Maria was overwhelmed by the surge of affection in her heart, “Your ignorance only makes me fall for you harder…”

The word was quite poetic, actually: _fall._

Maria _had_ fallen _–_ cluelessly, _carelessly –_ and yet, she felt like she’d _risen._

And if that was a sin – falling for _the Widow –_ then she didn’t want to be forgiven.

The thought was invigorating, and Maria grinned at her girlfriend. Natasha returned a watery smile before coming closer and wrapping her arms around Maria, her embrace gentle. And Maria returned the hug, resting her cheek against the shorter woman’s hair.

They stayed like that for a while, in each other's arms, before the redhead’s words suddenly came back to Maria.

“And I, uh…” Maria breathed shakily, “I need you to know that you’ll _always_ have a place to go to.”

“You’ll always _be free,”_ Maria murmured, willing her voice to not crack, “With or without me.”

Natasha immediately pulled out of the embrace, her eyes suddenly on fire, despite the tears brimming in them.

“You’re just one of those people, Natasha,” Maria whispered, a tender smile on her lips, “Blemished and bruised, but not broken.”

 _“Never_ broken,” Maria exhaled, gazing devoutly into the emeralds.

A strangled whimper left Natasha’s lips and she grabbed Maria into a fierce hug, her face instantly nestling in the crook of Maria’s neck.

 _“You_ are the tamer of your own flames,” Maria whispered, “You don’t need me – _or_ _anyone else –_ for that.”

She ran a soothing hand down the redhead’s back, “Never have, never will.”

The shorter woman pulled back and crashed her lips against Maria’s.

And they just kissed each other. Violently and vehemently. Impatiently and insistently. Ardently and advertently.

And then, _gently._

Natasha broke apart and hugged Maria once again, hiding her facing into the crook of Maria’s neck. Maria could feel the wetness against her skin, and her own heart clenched, her girlfriend’s silent sobs searing her soul.

“And there’s one last thing that I just have to mention, since it all started with the handcuffs,” Maria said, desperately hoping that the quip would work.

“It’s pointless to shackle your hands, when you’ve got _wings_ there,” Maria said, affecting as much mirth in her voice as she could, “And _you,_ Romanoff –”

“Try saying the word _‘jailbird,’_ Hill,” Natasha muttered, pulling out of the hug to glare at Maria, “And I –”

“– are _the_ jailbird extraordinaire,” Maria finished, blithely ignoring her girlfriend’s (faux) threat.

She flashed the shorter woman a lopsided grin – the one she knew the Russian couldn’t resist – and arched up her eyebrows: _come on, Nat, you can’t be mad at me; I made that rhyme._

The redhead chuckled fondly – _lovingly_ (God, _finally_ the word can be used) – and drew her in for another kiss.

 _“Dammit,_ Maria,” Natasha murmured, laughing into Maria’s mouth, “I can’t believe you just outdid my speech…”

Maria smiled against her girlfriend’s lips, “Must everything be a game…?”

“It’s _always_ been a game,” the Russian replied, pulling back, an eyebrow cocked up, “The _best_ game you’ll ever play.”

_Amen to that…_

“And I might lose _to_ you,” Natasha added, her gaze mellow, “But I know that I would never lose _with_ you…”

“And I don’t ever want to _lose_ _you,”_ the redhead whispered, her voice hitching.

 _“So,_ Maria, that door that you’ve kept open…?” Natasha said, her brows raised as she referred to what she’d said, a few minutes ago, “I need you – I _want_ you – to close that.”

And Maria gazed back warmly at the shorter woman, the admiration in the emeralds making her heart soar.

And just when she thought the green orbs would soften some more, Natasha’s lips curved up into that trademark cheeky smirk.

“Stop staring, Hill,” the Russian drawled, her eyes dancing with mischief, _“And close the damn door.”_

Natasha deliberately shifted her gaze towards something beside Maria, and Maria understood what the shorter woman meant.

The _actual_ door. Of the _house._ That Maria had unintentionally left open when she’d come in. Because she’d gotten ambushed. By her oh-my-God-she’s-a-freaking-mastermind girlfriend.

_She used that metaphor on purpose. This was her plan all along. She was always going to end it this way…_

“You’re right, you know,” Natasha said, her smirk pure _evil,_ like she’d read every bit of the thought.

“You might have your little rhymes to make your speech shine,” the Russian said, an eyebrow arched up artfully, “But the _last word_ , Hill, will _always_ be mine.”

 _And_ she’d made that rhyme.

And Maria felt it all over again. That _exquisite_ thrill that always followed her defeat. The one that would make even her _defeat_ feel sweet and complete.

And she just had to tug the redhead closer and kiss her, utterly _floored_ by the woman’s wit. Their lips moved together for a while before Maria’s mind caught on the word and she pulled back a little.

“Always?” Maria murmured, a small grin on her lips.

And she searched the expanse of the emeralds for _it._

A promise.

The redhead yanked at Maria’s collar and pulled her forward, her grip tight but her grin tender, _“Always.”_

And, _as always,_ Natasha had given her _more_ than what she’d wanted.

A _proclamation._

* * *

“Never.”

“Never what?”

“Never get me both chocolate-frosted _and_ cream-filled donuts.”

The second the words left the redhead’s lips, Maria felt the nervousness hit her.

“I, uh… I didn’t actually mean to,” Maria stuttered, scratching the back of her neck anxiously, “I couldn’t remember which one you liked – I’ve gotten us breakfast _a thousand_ times, and, I swear, I just don’t know _how_ I forgot – and I really _should_ be knowing the kind of donut my girlfriend prefers after being together for a _whole year,_ and –”

“Damn, Hill, relax,” Natasha chuckled, utterly amused, _“Breathe…”_

Maria hung her head and inhaled deeply, the rambling making her chest heave.

They’d just shuffled over to the dining table (after closing the _goddamn_ door) to have their breakfast. Maria had whipped up their coffees while Natasha brought out the food from the bags. And Maria just stared at the donuts on the table right now, feeling like a total _jerk._

Natasha stepped forward and hooked her finger under Maria’s chin, tilting her head up. Maria saw the warm smile on the shorter woman’s lips, and she felt even worse.

“I’m sorry,” Maria mumbled, “I shouldn’t have forgotten. But my mind is just… just _blank.”_

“You _didn’t_ forget, Maria,” Natasha said, grinning softly, “I like _both_ types just as much. And if you put them in front of me, I simply can’t decide _which_ one to go for.”

Maria gawked at her for a bit, and the redhead widened her smile, her gaze gentle and reassuring.

“You used to get me either,” Natasha added, her eyes dancing with mischief this time, “I would usually choose based on the colour of the shirt _you_ were wearing.”

 _“You see,”_ the Russian purred, her voice playful and sultry at the same time, “The evidence – of our post-breakie quickie – is _much_ easier to hide, when the topping camouflages against the material…”

Natasha shot her a wink, “Wouldn’t want the whole Helicarrier to know that _the_ Hard-ass Hill’s come for a meeting right after _‘getting some,’_ would we?”

It was all pure, unadulterated, _100%_ Russian-grade _bullshit._

But Maria still found herself chuckling like an idiot.

“You _do_ talk too much, Romanoff,” Maria said after a bit, gathering herself, “Tell me, though, really, which one do you like?”

“I really _do_ like both of them,” Natasha answered softly, her grin no longer wicked, “I’d just choose randomly, depending on my mood. That’s probably why you got confused…”

“So, I didn’t forget?” Maria murmured, somewhat relieved by her girlfriend’s reply.

Natasha smiled back tenderly, “You didn’t forget.”

“And it wouldn’t have mattered even if you had,” the redhead added, her expression sombre this time.

“I was _in prison_ till yesterday, Maria,” Natasha went on, shaking her head briefly, “I’m _here,_ having this conversation right now – _choosing which donut to have –_ because of –”

“You don’t owe me anything,” Maria cut her off, her own tone serious, “I _wanted_ you out of there. I wanted you _with me.”_

 _“Moreover,”_ Maria added, her voice firm, “You’re my _colleague_ before even being my girlfriend, and it was my job to help you.”

“So, you _won’t_ thank me,” Maria said, her eyes drilling into the redhead’s, _“Because I haven’t done you any favour.”_

“And that’s an order,” Maria added, her tone brooking no argument, _“Agent.”_

It was a non-negotiable. She needed Natasha to know that.

_This isn’t going to be a relationship based on obligation._

The Russian’s gaze softened for a second, and then her features morphed into that all-too-familiar simper. Salacious and scandalous.

“You’re right,” Natasha drawled, her eyes suddenly hooded, “You haven’t done me any _favour…”_

The Russian came closer, kissing the spot on Maria’s throat that she knew drove Maria crazy, and then bit the skin lightly, her other hand curling around Maria’s neck to hold her in place.

 _“… yet,”_ Natasha whispered, her voice sinfully husky.

And Maria knew _exactly_ what “favour” the Russian was talking about.

_The saucy minx and her one-track mind…_

“And trust me, when you _do,”_ the redhead murmured, her teeth still grazing Maria’s neck, _“You_ will be the one thanking _me.”_

And the sound escaping Maria’s lips was something between a laugh and a squeak and a moan.

She shivered involuntarily and grabbed the shorter woman by her waist, pulling her even closer. And Maria could feel it; the unsaid – and unnecessary _– thank-you_ as the redhead continued her ministrations.

And Maria simply stood there, letting Natasha do what she wanted to do, take what she wanted to take. _Give_ what she wanted to give.

The redhead eventually stilled against Maria’s neck, and sighed, “I know you didn’t do anything for me.”

Natasha pulled back, a crooked grin on her lips, “You already made that clear yesterday: you came here to get some hot stuff.”

The Russian wiggled her eyebrows impishly, and Maria recalled the reference from the earlier day.

But Maria could sense the tempest – of gratitude, of _guilt_ – swirling in the redhead’s green orbs. And yet, Natasha was _smiling,_ not allowing her own turmoil to faze Maria.

And Maria just had to grin back, amazed – for the _nth_ time, by now – at her girlfriend’s invincible spirit.

“Small correction, Romanoff,” Maria whispered, squeezing the redhead’s waist, giving her the reply she’d always wanted, “The _hottest_ stuff.”

* * *

 _“Dammit,_ Maria! _Faster!”_

“Yeah, _yeah,_ I’m coming!”

Maria nearly tripped over the rim at the exit of the washroom as she rushed to get outside to the hall.

They’d had their breakfast and they were in the living room right now, watching one of the movies that Maria had recorded (a _million_ years ago) on her TV.

And it was the _third_ time in the past 45 minutes that Maria had taken a bathroom-break. To wash her face. Because she was feeling sleepy.

It was freaking _9:54 a.m.,_ and Maria was _sleepy._

It was as if the strain – physical and emotional – of the past four months had suddenly decided to manifest itself all at once. Maria had been so insanely worked up all that time, she could hardly remember when she’d been this relaxed. And her body knew that better than she did.

“You don’t have to pause the movie every time, you know,” Maria grumbled when she reached the couch.

“It’s a _Christopher Nolan_ masterpiece, Hill,” Natasha retorted, “You miss _10 seconds_ and it’s like committing _sacrilege.”_

Maria simply rolled her eyes at the theatrics as she sat – _flopped –_ down beside the redhead, a tired sigh escaping her lips before she could even help it. Natasha must have caught it – must have caught all the _earlier_ sighs as well – but she let it slide, and they shifted their focus back to the TV.

And just a few minutes later, Maria found her eyelids drooping again, and she struggled to keep herself awake. Her head nearly lolled over, and Maria’s eyes snapped open, the sudden jerk jolting her, and she found Natasha looking at her.

“M’watching,” Maria mumbled, smiling weakly, “I promise, I’m watching.”

But the redhead wasn’t reassured at all, her gaze forlorn, “When was the last time you had a proper night’s sleep?”

And Maria instantly ducked her head. She could easily throw the question back at the Russian, but they were past that phase. Of hiding and avoiding.

“Last night,” Maria whispered, still not facing her girlfriend.

Natasha’s hand came up and she held Maria’s chin, her grip tender as she tipped her head up. The Russian looked deep into Maria’s eyes before she cupped Maria’s cheek, her thumb ghosting over the wound beside Maria’s brow.

“You know, when I was in that jail,” Natasha murmured, looking fixedly at the cut, “I was trapped, but I wasn’t exactly miserable.”

The redhead shifted her eyes and their gazes locked again, “It was the opposite for you, wasn’t it…”

And Maria hung her head once more, the desolation in the green orbs slicing through her heart.

When she thought back now, those four months seemed to drift away into the sands of time. But back then, it had felt like they would never end.

“I wasn’t _miserable,_ Natasha,” Maria mumbled, raising her head to look at her girlfriend, “I was just _desperate…”_

 _“… and alone,”_ Maria exhaled, almost unknowingly.

And she lowered her head yet again, mortified by the dejection in her own voice. Maria felt her girlfriend’s lips brush over her temple, and she squeezed her eyes close, the simple kiss soothing her.

Natasha’s arm rose and she slid it behind Maria’s shoulders, and Maria understood what the woman wanted. She shifted in her position, lifting her feet onto the couch, and laid her head in her girlfriend’s lap. The redhead’s fingers sifted through her bangs, and Maria’s eyes shut immediately.

“And I know _you_ were alone too,” Maria whispered, her eyes still closed, “And I was _right here_ all the while, but I couldn’t meet you. Couldn’t even _see_ you…”

“It was just so… _frustrating,”_ Maria muttered, burrowing her face into her girlfriend’s thigh, “You did everything by the book, and yet you had to spend four months – _four whole months –_ in prison.”

She finally opened her eyes and turned her face to look up, and she found the emeralds gazing back at her, anguish – her _own_ anguish – filled in them.

Maria took in the redhead’s sunken eyes, her skin much paler than it had been months ago, and she felt a twinge in her heart.

“I can’t even imagine what it must’ve been like for you…” Maria sighed raggedly.

“I was _waiting,_ Maria,” Natasha murmured, her smile wistful, “But you were _worrying…”_

 _Was worrying,_ Maria wanted to reassure her _._ She didn’t have to _now._

“Yeah,” Maria said, chuckling feebly, “Worrying that the bottle of vodka I’d gotten you was going to stay sealed forever. Do you know it costed a good _150 bucks?”_

“150 _American_ bucks…” Maria added, rather emphatically. 

And the redhead gave her the laugh she wanted, “Your budget – and your _priorities_ _–_ are nice to know…”

Maria returned a silly smile, “I always go big when it comes to the Widow…”

“Ha,” Natasha hummed, the most affectionate smile on her lips, “You made that rhyme.”

“No,” Maria grinned, _“We_ made that rhyme.”

“Yeah, _‘we,’”_ the redhead whispered, “It’s always a _‘we,’_ Maria. You aren’t alone anymore.”

The words couldn’t possibly be more calming.

Maria smiled back, but she could already feel her eyelids getting heavier. Natasha ran her fingers through Maria’s hair once again, and the gentle motion nudged Maria further closer to oblivion.

She opened her eyes one final time, _“‘We…’”_

Maria couldn’t get herself to say anything else, the darkness taking over literally in a blink, but she’d caught the tiny grin on her girlfriend’s lips, and she knew that the message had been received.

_We aren’t alone anymore._

* * *

Maria woke up feeling like she’d been resurrected from the dead.

The couch was empty apart from her and Maria quickly sat up, blinking blearily. Her eyes swept around, searching for the clock in the living room, and she cursed herself when she found that it was past lunchtime.

Maria hopped off the couch, popping by the washroom to freshen up and then followed the clatter coming from the kitchen, worry filling her by the passing second.

(Oh, don’t get her wrong, the Widow was a wizard at wielding with _all_ kinds of blades, including the chef’s knives. But the woman was _injured_ right now, and she shouldn’t be working.)

Maria got there soon enough, and, as she’d predicted, she found Natasha hobbling about around the counters, probably preparing for lunch.

The redhead noticed her and flashed her a gorgeous grin, “Hey there, hot stuff.”

“I thought I’d have to kiss you awake,” the Russian teased, winking at her, “Sleeping Beauty-style.”

Maria chuckled sheepishly, scratching the back of her neck, “It sure does feel like years have passed…”

“You needed that,” Natasha said, her smile mellowing.

Maria walked up to her, stopping her from limping, “And _you_ need to rest.”

“I’m fine,” the Russian replied offhandedly, “That cream from yesterday was quite effective. I at least don’t feel like I’ve been run over by a truck.”

And Maria arched up an eyebrow at the woman: _seriously?_

But Natasha just shook her head and smiled reassuringly: _seriously._

Maria studied her girlfriend for a bit, searching her eyes for a flicker. But Natasha gazed back warmly, her grin genuine.

_Then again, she does heal much faster than us mere mortals..._

“Okay, then,” Maria exhaled, peering around the kitchen counter, “What are we cooking?”

“Spaghetti Bolognese, for the main course,” the Russian replied, rather animatedly, “And I want to try making this Russian dessert-slash-drink called ‘Kissel.’”

“I know it’s a weird combination,” Natasha added, chuckling to herself, “But you seemed to have a bag of cranberries lying around, and I thought I might as well put them to some use.”

The redhead ended her tirade and looked up expectantly, her brows raised and her eyes filled with hope: _what do you think of the plan?_

And it was the cutest sight ever.

And Maria just had to smile back warmly: _it’s perfect._

“Okay,” Maria breathed, “So, what can I do to help?”

Natasha opened her mouth to say something, but then she stopped herself. And Maria could almost _hear_ the gears turning in that wayward mind of hers.

“I forgot to bring some of the bags in,” the Russian answered, her eyes glittering, for some reason, “The ones with the grocery you’d brought this morning…?”

“They should be on the table in the living room,” Natasha added, a half-smile on her lips, “Could you get them in first?”

“Sure,” Maria nodded and then shuffled outside to do her girlfriend’s bidding.

And the next part happened like _actual_ clockwork.

Maria reached the living room, and she’d _just_ found that there were _no bags on the damn dining table,_ when Natasha’s voice came from the kitchen, right on cue.

“And while you’re out there,” the Russian spoke, her smirk _audible_ through the walls, “Why don’t you sit down on the couch and relax while I finish in here?”

And Maria shook her head, chiding herself for her own stupidity.

_I should’ve seen that coming…_

She trudged back to the kitchen, tail firmly between her legs, feeling – probably even _looking –_ like a fool.

And _of course,_ her too-smart-for-anyone girlfriend was grinning cheekily, one hand on her hip, that wickedly adorable glint in her eyes.

“So, I’m not allowed to help,” Maria huffed, trying to sound at least a little bit haughty, “But can I at least stand here and watch you? In case, you know, you fall, and I have to catch you…?”

“Oh, but I _won’t_ fall,” Natasha replied smoothly, “Because –”

“Because you’ve _already_ fallen?” Maria supplied, her own grin cocky, “For _me?”_

 _“No,”_ the Russian said, stretching the word for effect, “I won’t fall because I have _wings,_ remember?”

_Goddamned smartass._

Natasha wiggled her eyebrows in victory, “Told you, you shouldn’t have called me a jailbird.”

_Yeah, I really should’ve known._

That the Widow would flip the quip around.

So. Damn. _Effortlessly._

Natasha simply stuck out her tongue – _the_ _Black Widow actually_ _stuck out her tongue –_ and then shifted her focus back to her work, chopping the vegetables like a pro.

“This is not how it’s supposed to be,” Maria muttered, walking up to the shorter woman.

“You just got out of jail, Natasha,” Maria mumbled, making the redhead pause and look at her, _“I_ should be in here cooking for you, while _you’re_ supposed to be out relaxing…”

“I’m not _‘supposed’_ to do anything, Maria,” Natasha pointed out, her smile gentle this time, “That’s the perk of being out of jail: I can do what I _want_ to do, _be_ where I _want_ to be.”

The Russian flashed her another grin before shifting her gaze and resuming her work, “And right now, I want to be in the kitchen in my house and make my girlfriend a meal…”

Natasha had uttered the words almost obliviously, but Maria could feel her insides flutter with delight.

_“My” house. That sure has a nice ring to it…_

The redhead realised what she’d ended up saying, and she turned to face Maria again, her expression somewhat nervous. And she must have seen the near- _crazy_ smile on Maria’s face, because her features soon morphed into that signature smirk.

The Russian left the knife to grab Maria’s collar, an eyebrow raised artfully, “This _is_ my house…”

And Maria’s grin widened some more, if that was even physically possible.

“… because _you_ are mine,” Natasha added, her voice a devout whisper, despite the sass in her words.

“I _am_ yours,” Maria murmured, her eyes fixed on the entrancing emeralds, “For as long as you’ll have me. And even beyond that.”

The latter part had slipped out without Maria’s volition, and she ducked her head, recognising the intensity in the unplanned admission.

And even though she meant the words, she didn’t want to put that kind of pressure on Natasha. Especially not right now, when she hadn’t even adjusted back into her normal life.

_She’s just been freed, and she doesn’t need a noose hanging around her neck._

Maria looked up eventually, preparing a cover-up in her mind, but she saw the redhead gazing back at her with a smile, the green orbs gleaming with veneration.

“Well, then, soldier,” Natasha whispered, her own grin turning hopeful, “That would mean serving a sentence of _life imprisonment…”_

And the promise was perfectly clear, despite the pun.

_She wants this. Wants a “forever.”_

Maria could barely contain her relief – and her _joy –_ as she smiled at her girlfriend, _“I can’t wait…”_

And Natasha beamed back at her, her grin blinding.

“… to try the Russian dessert you’re going to make,” Maria added, smiling smugly.

Because she just had to.

And the shorter woman clenched the fabric of Maria’s collar tighter, that devilish glimmer back in her eyes.

“Oh, you won’t just _‘try’_ it, Hill,” Natasha muttered, valiantly trying to curb her grin, “You’ll _like_ it too.”

“No, I won’t like it,” Maria replied immediately, smirking blatantly, “I’ll _love_ it.”

“I love _you,”_ Maria added, just a second later.

And she smiled to herself at the taste of the words. She’d barely uttered them twice till now, and yet, they felt so… _innate._ Like she was _always_ meant to say them. Like she was always meant to _fall for Natasha._

The redhead must have shared the sentiment, and she leaned forward to capture Maria’s lips, the kiss languid and fulfilling.

“I love you too,” Natasha hummed against her lips.

And Maria just couldn’t stop _grinning,_ her heart all but _rejoicing._

They pulled apart and the redhead simply continued gazing at her, the smile on her lips a reflection of the one on Maria’s.

And Maria took the chance to snag the knife off the counter, dragging the chopping board towards herself with her other hand. Natasha caught the move (obviously) and she shook her head fondly as she reached for the rest of the ingredients.

They worked in silence, stealing glances as they flitted about kitchen, passing around the required stuff as they prepared their lunch. It was rare – this scene of domesticity – as compared to their hectic lives back on the Helicarrier, and Maria found herself cherishing these moments.

“Just so you know,” Natasha spoke after a bit, “It _isn’t_ my house.”

Maria turned to look at her, confused by the take-back. But the redhead had the warmest smile on her lips, and Maria understood.

“Yeah, it isn’t,” Maria whispered, her own grin impossibly wide, “It’s _our_ house.”

* * *

“Okay, this really isn’t that bad…”

Maria looked up after mumbling the words, and Natasha gave her an _I-told-you-so_ eye-roll.

They’d spent the afternoon relaxing after their lunch (that Russian dessert the redhead had made had been all but _heavenly)_ and they were deciding what to do for the evening.

And Natasha wanted to go out and explore the town (of course, the woman wanted to prance around with that _wreck_ of a leg), so Maria had been checking the redhead’s sprain to see if she could convince her to stay in.

But, as Natasha had claimed earlier that day, the swelling on her ankle really _had_ reduced since last night, and Maria found herself gnashing her teeth, _literally_ eating her own words.

Then again, she could understand the Russian’s wish to go out. She’d been cooped indoors for the past four months; it was only natural for her to want some fresh air.

Maria stood up and shuffled over to the drawers by the bed to get the medical supplies, to change the bandages, and Natasha simply sat at the edge of the bed, grinning smugly. Walking back in a minute, Maria crouched down before the Russian and began working.

And she was in the middle of spreading the cream over Natasha’s ankle when her phone began ringing on the bed, just beside the redhead. Natasha reached for it and brought it near Maria, and Maria smiled back, guessing the number.

“Pick it up,” Maria said, “It’s probably for you too.”

The understanding dawned upon Natasha quickly and she grinned back, accepting the call and putting the device on speakerphone.

There was an uncharacteristic pause before Fury’s booming voice rang through the phone.

 _“Agents,_ it’s been so _goddamn_ long since we had a chat…”

The Director _actually_ sounded _happy,_ and they looked at each other, smiling at the same time.

“Come on, Sir,” Maria chuckled into the phone, “We’d spoken just earlier this week…”

“Yes, yes,” Fury replied, as if he’d predicted the response, “But I believe _Romanoff_ wasn’t there with you at that time.”

And this time, Natasha was the one who laughed, “How did you know I was here, Sir?”

“Well, for one,” the Director spoke, “I didn’t hear Hill’s exhausted sigh when the call was picked up…”

Maria looked up at the redhead, shrugging nonchalantly, and Natasha shook her head, her gaze softening.

 _“And,”_ Fury was still speaking, “I read a particular news piece about an armed gang attack in Brazil…”

“According to the article,” the Director went on, almost _eagerly_ , “The vehicle carrying a former-Brazilian prisoner and a U.S. army officer was ambushed, and the encounter resulted in the death of the infamous Ferreira heir, consequently causing the fall of the _entire_ cartel.”

And they both heaved collective sighs of relief. It was all truly, _fully – finally_ – over _._

“Said vehicle reportedly got bombed during the gunfight that had ensued,” Fury said, “And the travellers are supposed to have died on the spot.”

_Ah. The classic Killed-in-Action cover-up…_

“The bodies were burnt beyond recognition,” the Director continued, “But the dental records confirmed the victims as inmate no. 717, N. Romero, and Maj. M. Hilton of the U.S. Marine Corp.”

Maria raised her eyebrows, seemingly impressed, _“‘Dental records?’_ That’s a nice touch, Sir…”

“Oh, that wasn’t me,” Fury replied, “I believe that was the Widow’s trick.”

Maria looked towards her girlfriend, and she was rewarded with that Romanoff-brand smirk.

“Well, Sir,” Natasha said, her eyes fixed on Maria, “Agent Hill did quite well with the props and the costumes. And the _lenses.”_

The Russian shot her a toothy grin, “But _I_ happen to have some _‘contacts’_ around here too.”

And Maria just had to chuckle at the lame-yet-witty play of words. And she could’ve _sworn_ that the Director joined her.

“I’d sent out the word early this morning,” Natasha said, the explanation for both Maria and Fury, “I’d thought it might be too late to alter the forensic study transcripts. But looks like my asset managed to do it.”

“He did, indeed,” Fury replied, “And with that, your missions, while terribly overdue, are officially complete.”

And they looked at each other once again, sharing the solace at hearing the Director’s words.

“And, Romanoff?” Fury said, his voice suddenly a tad soft, “I, uh… I’m deeply regretful of the time you had to spend in prison. And I hope you’re aware that if there was anything more we could’ve done, at our end, we would have…”

And Maria shook her head and rolled her eyes, grateful that the Director couldn’t see her.

_A simple “I’m sorry” would’ve done it…_

“It’s fine, Sir,” Natasha replied, her gaze gentle as she looked at Maria, “I always knew that there was a _shield_ out here, watching over me…”

And Maria knew who the words were referring to.

She gave the redhead a reassuring smile, and Natasha instantly returned it, her eyes mellowing even more.

 _“Right,”_ Fury replied, a gruff chuckle heard at his end, “Anyway, carry on, Agents. Take the next few days off. You both have earned them.”

“Whoa, Sir!” the Russian almost yelped, “You’re letting us take –”

“A _leave,_ Romanoff,” the Director cut her off, “A special assigned leave. _Not_ a holiday.”

“You might be out of jail,” Fury added, his tone nearly _mischievous,_ “But you’ll never be free. From the paperwork. Which I expect – from _both_ of you – by the end of next week.”

Maria just had to huff petulantly at that.

_So much for the op not being “official.”_

And she really wasn’t surprised when the Director cut the call with that.

They looked at each other, and neither would know whose grin was wider.

They stayed like that for a while before Maria lowered her head and resumed the work that the phone call had interrupted, spreading the cream over Natasha’s foot.

 _“You_ _know,”_ the Russian said – _purred –_ after a bit, “I’m kind of sad about “Major Hilton’s” demise. I think I’m going to miss her…”

Maria looked up, her features set in that _are-we-really-doing-this_ poker face.

 _“Seriously,”_ Natasha continued, almost dramatically, “I mean, when I saw you in those dress blues yesterday…?”

 _“Oof,”_ the redhead gushed, fanning herself theatrically, “The _sun_ doesn’t compare to how _smouldering_ you looked.”

It was that reference from the earlier day again, and Maria grinned at the woman’s antics, shaking her head somewhat shyly.

 _“In fact,”_ Natasha whispered, her voice sultry this time, “I’d _love_ to see you in that uniform again, maybe –”

 _“No,”_ Maria all but croaked, stiffening before she even realised it.

The redhead’s expression immediately froze, and Maria ducked her head, hiding her own face.

“Don’t…” Maria mumbled, “Don’t make me wear that uniform again, _please…”_

She’d done it yesterday because it was the need of the situation, and it hadn’t been a big deal, with her sole focus being their escape. But she just couldn’t wear the uniform again. Because –

 _“I’m not worthy of it,”_ Maria whispered, her voice hoarse.

Her head was still bowed, and she closed her eyes, the memory – the _misery_ – instantly flashing before them.

Maria didn’t know what had triggered it right now – and _why –_ but she could hardly help it as the incidents began replaying in her mind. Before she could completely lose herself down that rabbit hole, Maria opened her eyes and blinked rapidly, clearing the images.

She promptly finished her task, her fingers trembling a little as she wrapped the crepe bandage around Natasha’s foot. Maria gathered the stuff before standing up and turning to leave, but she found a hand grabbing hers, stopping her.

She looked down at the woman, and Natasha gave her a grim smile, “Not so fast, soldier.”

There was that word again. Soldier.

_If only she knew…_

The redhead had always called her that, more often since they’d gotten together. And it had always been endearing. But right now, with the ghosts of her past running rampant in Maria’s mind, the term only ripped through her soul.

Natasha slowly got off the bed, gripping Maria’s hand for support as she stood up. The Russian’s eyes were drilling into Maria’s, and Maria waited for the questions.

But Natasha only took the medical supplies from Maria, her other hand fisting the hem of Maria’s shirt. Maria lifted it for her, and the redhead promptly began patching up the wound on Maria’s midsection.

And Maria could only watch her girlfriend, her gaze lowered as she worked. If Natasha was curious, she was doing a spectacular job concealing it; her fingers moving efficiently, not a sound slipping from her lips.

Maria took in the redhead’s calm features and then she understood. That Natasha _wasn’t_ going to ask her. Wasn’t going to pry. Didn’t _need_ to pry. Because no matter what Maria told her, it wouldn’t change her opinion. Or her feelings.

Her silence only spurred Maria to open up.

“I’m not a soldier,” Maria said, making the woman pause for a bit, “A _court-martial_ almost made that official…”

Natasha’s gaze instantly flew up, her orbs flashing bright. With… _something._ It wasn’t pity. _Piety,_ maybe. Panic, mostly. Pain, _mainly._

“I was on a tour, back when I was a Marine,” Maria began, her voice rough, “The situation around us was a hellhole, as always, but I had a great team.”

“Our leader, Jefferson…” Maria paused, smiling wistfully at the memory, “He was a great guy. He’d been through a couple of wars, and he had the best judgement.”

“And he _cared…”_ Maria breathed, her eyes briefly closing, “About the people. About the _principles.”_

She opened her eyes and found Natasha gazing back at her, a sad smile on her lips. The shorter woman finished taping up the wound and then lowered Maria’s shirt. She set aside all the medical supplies before facing Maria again.

“Everything had been going fine, until _that_ week,” Maria went on, “The militants had gotten a lot more aggressive than usual, and we’d gotten a tip about them planning something big.”

“The senior officers were desperate for intel,” Maria sighed, “So they’d caught hold of some civilians from the village. Mostly family members – women and children _–_ of the militants.”

An indignant scoff left Maria’s lips, “The _intention_ – for the _‘record’_ – was to _‘ask’_ the civilians for information. Names, locations, timings, that kind of stuff. But we knew what would happen if we _didn’t_ get the details we wanted. _Or,_ if the details didn’t _add up._ ”

Natasha gave her a grim nod, and Maria knew that she’d understood: _it was an off-the-books hostage situation._

“Jefferson tried reasoning with his superiors,” Maria resumed, shaking her head, “That what they were doing – _interrogating civilians –_ was almost a _war crime._ But _they_ had to answer to people too. It was like those Russian dolls…”

Maria sighed yet again, “Jefferson had to give in, and we had to carry out the _‘questioning.’_ But he assigned _me_ to do it, with the explicit instruction to be friendly and respectful.”

“He always used to do that,” Maria chuckled, her voice heavy with emotions, “Accept the commands, but then work around them so that we didn’t end up doing something wrong…”

Natasha smiled again, her eyes soft and imploring. The warmth in the emeralds was genuine, and Maria drew strength from it to continue.

“I spoke to the civilians,” Maria said, her voice still shaky, “And it was pretty clear that they really – _genuinely –_ didn’t know much. But I reported back the bare minimum details I managed to get, and our team was promptly ordered to subdue that batch of militants.”

“Jefferson tried to argue once again, that the intel was dubious,” Maria rasped, “But the superiors wouldn’t have any of it…”

Maria didn’t realise her hands were trembling until the redhead held them, her grip gentle but steady. And Maria could see the dread in the emeralds, and she knew that _Natasha_ knew.

Knew where the story was going.

“We drove to the location,” Maria whispered, her eyes scrunching close, “And it turned out to be a goddamn _minefield.”_

“Our truck didn’t last _half a minute_ before being blown to bits,” Maria croaked, dropping her head.

And the visions hit her instantly. Of the blasts. Of the blood. Of the _sand._

_God, the sand…_

There had been just _so much_ of it, Maria had felt like she’d sink right into it. She remembered the abject _helplessness_ when she’d been trapped under those rocks, unable to anything apart from watching the mayhem unfold around her…

Natasha squeezed her fingers, and that was the only thing keeping Maria tethered to sanity.

“Jefferson somehow pulled me out of the rubble,” Maria went on, her voice hardly recognisable to her, “But he was barely standing himself.”

Maria shook her head yet again, “And the explosions hadn’t even ended before the gunshots began.”

“We fought back as best as we could; _I swear,_ we did,” Maria growled, the anger and frustration still fresh within her, “But we were just _hopelessly_ outnumbered. We knew within minutes that it was an unwinnable war.”

“And then Jefferson turned to me…” Maria paused, reminding herself to breathe, “He told me – _ordered_ me – to leave. To leave and free those civilians. Because he knew that they’d have to pay for that _‘betrayal,’_ as the superiors would see it. ”

“I remember what he told me,” Maria whispered, her throat getting painfully tight, “That civilian life knows no nationality. American or not, it _had_ to be a priority.”

“I told him that I couldn’t just… _abandon_ them,” Maria rasped, “But he wouldn’t budge. He said that I could also bring another unit of Marines on the way back. Said that it was the only way we could even _try_ salvaging that fucked up situation.”

It had been some of the most harrowing few seconds of her life, when she’d been caught in that dilemma.

 _“And then I left,”_ Maria exhaled, her voice quivering with remorse.

_Left the battle. Left my team…_

“Jefferson gave me cover-fire, and I managed to leave from there,” Maria croaked, her voice strangled, “I made it back to our base and released the civilians, letting them know all the safe passageways to escape.”

Maria paused for a bit, to swallow the lump in her throat, “I went back to the sight of the battle, taking the backup team with me.”

 _“But we were too late,”_ Maria choked out, her eyes squeezing close, “By the time we reached, my whole team…”

Natasha pulled her into a hug, and Maria’s chin fell onto the shorter woman’s shoulder. The Russian kept stroking her back, but it did nothing to stop Maria’s body from shaking.

And it was many lifetimes later that Maria found her voice – and the _courage_ _–_ to speak again.

“So, yeah,” Maria muttered, inhaling deeply, “Being the sole survivor from my team didn’t exactly look good on my file, and the brass immediately came for me.”

“I was sent back to America,” Maria said, her voice gravelly, “And there was a formal enquiry and everything…”

She remembered it far too well. The last time she’d worn her khaki combat suit. The last time she’d worn those dress blues.

The last time she’d _been a Marine._

Maria took a long breath, gathering herself, “But before any decision could be passed, Fury swooped in with the offer to join S.H.I.E.L.D.”

“He told me he’d handle the authorities,” Maria whispered, “And that this would be a chance to stay in the field.”

_To still make a difference…_

“And the next thing I knew,” Maria breathed, “I was out of the sandy ruins and on the Helicarrier, with S.H.I.E.L.D.’s logo slapped onto my tac suit. And that was that...”

Maria sighed heavily, utterly drained by the confession, and her body sagged against her girlfriend’s. And Natasha held her firmly, like she wanted to take away some of the exhaustion. And Maria could feel the redhead’s body shudder a little, as if this was agonising for _her_ too.

“That guy from yesterday…” Natasha finally spoke, her voice small, “The one who switched cars with us…? He was one of those civilians, wasn’t he?”

“Yeah,” Maria nodded, sighing against her girlfriend’s neck, “He’d just been a teenager back then, and I didn’t know him personally until he reached out to me last year…”

_To thank me._

Maria couldn’t help but chuckle mirthlessly. That gratitude was of _zero_ value, because it had come at the cost of her _whole team._

Then again, it wasn’t anyone else’s fault. _Maria_ had left them to die.

_Every last one of them..._

Natasha’s words from the earlier day came back to her, piercing her heart like daggers, and Maria had to remind herself to not tighten the embrace and crush the woman in her arms.

“You told me yesterday, that I did everything right,” Maria croaked, “But I _didn’t.”_

“You also told me that I came through for the team,” Maria rasped, her arms twitching around the redhead, _“But I didn’t.”_

The tremors returned and Maria couldn’t get herself to speak anymore. Natasha began rubbing soft circles on her back, but it barely calmed the storm in Maria’s heart.

“There are other things that you didn’t do, Maria,” the Russian eventually spoke.

“You could’ve been stupid and wallowed in your sorrow forever, instead of being stubborn and taking up Fury’s offer,” Natasha said, her voice soft but firm, “But you _didn’t.”_

“You could’ve let your guilt _drown_ you, instead of making it _drive_ you,” the redhead added, boldly this time, _“But_ _you didn’t.”_

“You didn’t do the right thing, Maria,” Natasha murmured, her own voice paper-thin, _“Because there wasn’t any right thing to do.”_

And for some incomprehensible reason, Maria found the burden – just a sliver of it – getting released from over her chest. Almost as if she’d needed to hear that from someone; the _truth_.

The truth _as it was._

 _Grating,_ yet _liberating._

“Yours was a world where death is preferred over defiance,” Natasha breathed, “And yet, you had the guts to take on that disgrace, just to save a bunch of strangers…”

“And you’re _still_ doing that,” the redhead murmured, “Going out of the way to protect. To _shield.”_

“If your team leader saw you today,” Natasha whispered, _“He’d be proud of you.”_

And Maria blinked back her tears as she pulled the redhead closer, the words as excruciating as they were emancipating.

The shorter woman kept running her hand down Maria’s back, and they stayed like that for a long time, until the tightness in Maria’s throat – and her _heart –_ began fading.

The penitence – the _pain_ – was going to be perpetual. Maria knew that. But she didn’t feel like fighting it anymore. Because Natasha had given her the truth.

And guess what, the preachers were actually _right._

_The truth really does set you free…_

And Maria _finally_ felt herself relax. Relax _in this way,_ probably for the first time since she’d left the army.

The redhead must have caught on that and she slid her hand down Maria’s back one last time, her palm resting on Maria’s waist.

Natasha chuckled dryly to herself, “I used to think that whatever had happened in your past had made you become the way you are. But I know it for sure now…”

“… that you were like this _right from the start,”_ the redhead breathed, _“Ever_ striving to do the right thing. Ever _noble._ In the most… _nuanced_ ways.”

Maria didn’t know what the Russian meant by that word, but she could _feel_ her girlfriend’s veneration, her voice washing over her, cleaning – _healing –_ all those ancient wounds on her soul.

“You’ll always be a soldier, Maria, whether you think so or not,” Natasha hummed, her voice reverent, “A soldier who’s humble, _honourable,_ headstrong… _and hot.”_

And Maria found herself laughing outright at that, the sound suddenly seeming foreign to herself.

“Ha,” Natasha added, the grin obvious in her tone, “I made that rhyme.”

And Maria just had to pull back and kiss her, _unbelievably_ grateful for her girlfriend’s adoration.

Everything the Russian had said had a lot more value, because it came from _her._ The woman who knew life – _death –_ like no one else. Who knew guilt like no one else. Who knew _penance_ like no one else.

“Thank you,” Maria whispered against the redhead’s lips, “For telling me the truth…”

_… and giving me my salvation._

“It ain’t the first time I’ve told you the truth, Hill,” Natasha replied, pulling back, smiling cheekily, “I mean, seriously, I’ve been calling you “hot stuff” since the _beginning_ of time…”

The emeralds glittered with mirth for a bit before the redhead’s gaze softened: _you’re welcome._

And Maria felt lighter, that never-ending ache in her heart finally dulling a little. And for that, she'd be _forever_ indebted to Natasha.

Almost as if she’d guessed the thought, the redhead’s expression hardened a bit, “I hope you know that what you told _me_ this morning is just as valid for _you.”_

“You don’t owe me anything,” Natasha stated, her tone sombre but still firm, her eyes boring into Maria’s.

_Yeah, I know._

“I _do,_ actually,” Maria replied, her own smile soft, “I owe you an evening out in the town.”

“So come on, now,” Maria said, widening her grin, “Let’s get ready. We’ve got a city to explore.”

Maria gave the shorter woman’s shirt a once-over and then looked back up.

“And wear _your_ clothes, this time,” Maria added, her finger tracing the West Point logo on the redhead’s shirt.

“They’re _right beside_ _mine_ in the wardrobe _,_ actually,” Maria said, smirking at her girlfriend, “Not sure how you missed them when you raided it this morning…”

“I’d found them,” Natasha replied, her smile turning coy, “But the bed was empty when I woke up and…”

The redhead let it trail off for a bit, ducking her head, “… and I was missing you.”

The shorter woman looked up soon enough, and Maria bent forward to peck her girlfriend’s lips, touched by her candid admission.

They grinned at each other once more before shuffling over to the cupboard, getting themselves dressed for their casual night-out.

Natasha picked her outfit – jeans and a t-shirt – and Maria helped her into it, ensuring that the woman didn’t aggravate her broken ribs. Maria chose the same attire for herself, adding a jacket to the lot.

“So,” Maria breathed, once they were both ready, “Where would you like to go first?”

Natasha stared at her for a bit, and then her lips curved up in an _angelic_ smile.

“Wherever your heart desires, soldier, take me there,” the redhead whispered, as fervently as she had yesterday, “With you, I’ll go just about anywhere.”

The words were old, but the voice was bold.

And that rhyme in them…? That rhyme was _gold._

* * *

“Care to explain where the _hell_ you were?”

Maria sounded more tired than troubled as she bit out the words.

Natasha simply stared back at her, several yards down the footpath, her expression somewhat sheepish.

Maria rolled her eyes and walked up to the redhead, carefully balancing both their ice-cream cones in her uninjured hand.

(The damn things had already started melting, the sticky liquid dribbling down her wrist, but that wasn’t even the most exasperating thing.)

 _“God,_ Romanoff,” Maria huffed, “I leave you alone in the car for _4 minutes_ and you just _… disappear._ With almost _all_ of my money.”

 _(When_ the woman had even pickpocketed her, Maria would never know.)

Natasha grinned back cunningly, “I _did_ leave a note, though…”

Oh, she’d left a note, alright. A _note._ A single R$50 note. The amount that the Russian _hadn’t_ taken – _stolen –_ from Maria.

_The clever minx…_

And her goddamn _unbeatable_ way with words.

“And I am _eternally_ grateful…” Maria scoffed, the sarcasm from yesterday still intact.

Natasha simply took her cone from Maria’s hand and batted her eyelashes in (fake) innocence, licking the ice-cream over-exaggeratedly. And it was the _millionth_ time by now that Maria had found herself _grinning_ instead of glaring at her flippant girlfriend.

They’d visited some of the city’s outright _outstanding_ churches – their ornate Baroque architecture making their jaws drop – before it had gotten dark. They’d even managed to catch a glimpse of the town’s street carnaval; the parade not as eclectic as the one in Rio de Janeiro, but electric, nevertheless.

They’d had dinner afterwards, and Maria had suggested stopping for dessert. But Natasha had wanted to go on a long drive, so Maria had offered to get the ice-creams as take-aways. And, _of course,_ in those few minutes that Maria had exited the car, the redhead had left to do God-knows-what.

Maria saw the syrupy liquid on the skin of her hand, and she cringed to herself, her entire _existence_ squirming with the urge to clean it.

(Thank the _Gods_ that she’d rolled up the sleeves of her jacket, and the apparel was spared the stain.)

“You know,” Natasha said beside her as they walked along the pavement, “I could lick that off for you.”

The Russian’s gaze flitted down to Maria’s hand – to the _damn melted_ _ice-cream_ on it – for a second before coming up, and she smirked in that incorrigible way.

“I know you hate it when stuff clings to your skin…” Natasha purred, wiggling her brows.

Maria rolled her eyes yet again, “How about you _‘stick’_ to telling me where you’d gone off…”

The redhead grinned at the (silly) play of words before her expression went back to being shy.

“We’d passed by a shop on the way,” Natasha replied, “I saw something I liked in there, so I went to get it.”

Maria blew out a huff, “I could’ve come _with_ you, you know…”

She realised her folly the second the words left her lips.

And Maria waited for the crass quip from the Russian.

She looked to her side, and sure enough, the shorter woman had that _insufferably_ foxy smirk on her lips.

 _“Oh, I know,”_ Natasha drawled, “I know you like _‘coming’_ with me…”

Maria shook her head – it was really a _reflex,_ by now – but she couldn’t help chuckling along with her girlfriend.

“But I had to go alone, this time,” Natasha said, once the laughter had fizzled out.

The redhead’s smile turned demure again, and Maria simply studied her for a bit, wondering the reason behind the coyness.

They stayed silent for a while, finishing their ice-creams as they strolled down the footpath. Maria caught the sight of her sugary-cream-slathered hand and she grimaced yet again. Natasha chuckled at her before reaching into her back pocket and producing a small packet of wipes.

And Maria practically _snatched_ it from her, _legitimately_ relieved to be able to get that damn nuisance _off her skin._ And Natasha shook her head (fondly?) as she watched Maria dispose the wipe after cleaning her hand.

“Ever my saviour, aren’t you?” Maria said, grinning at her girlfriend.

And the redhead’s gaze instantly softened, “Right back at you, soldier.”

“Okay, then,” Maria said, arching her brows up, “Show me what you bought…”

“It, uh…” Natasha mumbled, “It’s actually for _you…”_

The Russian wrung her hands in a very un-Black-Widow-y way before speaking again, “I know jewellery isn’t really your thing, but I saw it through the store window, and it was just… _perfect,_ and I just _had_ to get it. And _I know,_ it’s kind of pointless to buy you a gift with _your_ money, but I –”

 _“Jesus,_ Romanoff, relax,” Maria cut her off, more amused than excited, “Show me…”

The redhead gave her a nervous smile and then reached into the pocket of her jeans, holding the gift out for Maria. And Maria found her own grin growing when she saw the item in Natasha’s hand.

“Happy anniversary,” the Russian said, her smile widening a little, “Belated.”

Maria took the silver necklace from the shorter woman, bringing it up to observe the pendant. It was a small circular ring, with two overlapping mountains etched within it, the triangles inscribed in a way that they formed the letter “M.”

The pendant was simple and minimalistic – just the way Maria preferred – and the chain was thin, but the necklace was still delicate enough to draw attention.

“The, uh…” Natasha spoke, dragging Maria’s focus away from the jewellery, “The mountains are supposed to be _hills…”_

“Because, you know, _you’re_ a Hill,” the redhead added, as if it even required any clarification.

And Maria couldn’t _possibly_ be more charmed.

 _Of course,_ even the Widow’s _gifts_ had to have more than one layer, so intricately woven…

Like an _actual_ web.

Maria bent forward and pecked her girlfriend’s lips, pulling back quickly to admire the necklace once again. She noticed something, and she found her grin growing some more.

“Hey, get this,” Maria said, rotating the ornament in her hand, “If you _turn_ the pendant around, it kind of looks like a _“W.”_ For the _Widow…”_

And this time, Natasha tugged at the lapels of her jacket, pulling her down to kiss her, long and deep. Maria’s free hand automatically curled around the shorter woman’s waist, and she held them in place as their lips moved together.

“Always _‘turning the tables,’_ aren’t you, Agent Hill?” Natasha mumbled in between kisses.

And Maria laughed into her girlfriend’s mouth, _pleased_ by the loving wordplay.

They broke apart eventually, and the Russian shot her a small smile, “So, I take it that you like it…?”

Maria grinned back wordlessly and thrust the necklace towards Natasha. The redhead’s smile faltered a little, but Maria bent down once again – a tad lower than before – and Natasha promptly understood.

The Russian took the necklace and then brought it near Maria’s neck, fastening its hook behind before adjusting the chain. Maria straightened herself and then looked down to see the pendant resting against her skin.

And a fond sigh escaped her lips before she even realised it, _“God,_ Nat, it’s beautiful…”

Maria heard the redhead’s breath hitch, and she raised her head, studying her girlfriend curiously.

“Say that again…” Natasha whispered, her eyes wide with awe.

Maria’s forehead knitted together in confusion, “It’s… beautiful?”

 _“No,”_ the redhead said, her voice quivering a bit, “What you just called me… say that again…”

And Maria realised it instantly, her own expression turning sheepish. She’d used the nickname before – _in her mind –_ but she’d never uttered it out loud. Until now.

But then Maria looked at the Russian, her emeralds _endearingly_ earnest, and she just had to give in to her girlfriend’s request.

“I said the necklace is beautiful,” Maria whispered, her own eyebrows rising with hope, _“Nat.”_

And Natasha’s eyes immediately closed, her features going slack in bliss, her lips curving up in a gorgeous smile. The redhead opened her eyes soon and then cupped Maria’s cheek, drawing her in for a kiss.

Natasha smiled against her lips, “How have you gone a _full year_ without calling me that?”

“I wasn’t sure if you’d be okay with it,” Maria murmured, her thumb rubbing the redhead’s hip.

Natasha pulled back, grinning brightly, “I’ve been _waiting_ for you to call me that…”

And Maria’s heart all but _leaped_ with delight.

“So, I take it that you like it…?” Maria whispered, echoing the Russian’s words from a few minutes ago, _“Nat…?”_

“I _love_ it,” Natasha replied, her smile widening even more, somehow.

“I love _you,”_ the redhead added, almost immediately.

Maria grinned back, “I love you too.”

And Maria just had to kiss her again, her entire being buzzing with joy. They stayed like that for a bit, their lips locked together, before Natasha pulled back and ducked her head.

Maria noticed the shorter woman’s strange smile, and she squeezed her waist, “What are you thinking?”

“Just how we’re both _idiots,”_ Natasha replied, looking up and chuckling, “It took us _way_ too long to get here.”

“And I…” the redhead murmured, her gaze softening, “I’m just wondering why we keep having these epiphanies only after missions…”

And Maria found her own expression mellowing. She couldn’t help but feel the same.

Why not, you know, _go on a date,_ or something, and fall in love.

Then again, Natasha had answered her own question: they really _were_ idiots.

Idiots who’d fought against the world – and _themselves –_ before finding each other.

“Ours is the story of the sword and the shield,” Maria whispered, a lopsided grin on her lips, “It has _got_ to be set on the battlefield…”

And the redhead gave her the softest smile, “You made that rhyme…”

Maria grinned back and Natasha raised her hands, crossing them behind Maria’s neck, her nails lightly scratching the nape. And Natasha eyed the pendant resting against Maria’s neck, her lips still curved up in a smile.

“The necklace really _is_ beautiful,” the redhead murmured, looking up to meet Maria’s gaze.

“Yeah, it is,” Maria replied, and then her own expression turned apologetic, “But I, uh… I didn’t get you a gift…”

She felt bad, even though she knew that the Russian wouldn’t be mad. For all her _off-the-charts_ sass, Natasha was really pretty low maintenance.

(Who knew the Widow could be wooed simply with a handful of Hershey’s Kisses?)

(And, of course, _more than_ a handful of _actual_ kisses.)

_But I should’ve gotten her something. It was our anniversary, for God’s sake…_

Maria’s musing was ended when Natasha stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Maria’s midsection.

Maria didn’t know what had spurred the hug, but she found herself returning it, her hand coming up and caressing her girlfriend’s back. The redhead turned her head a little and nipped Maria’s neck, a soft sigh escaping her lips _._

And Maria felt that incredible sensation again, of knowing that _this_ was where she belonged. Where she would _always_ belong.

_In her arms._

“You _did_ get me something,” Natasha whispered, snuggling deeper into the embrace, _“You got me home.”_

And the word was but the perfect description of their position right now.

Home.

* * *

“Did you just –”

“Oh, yeah, I _really_ did.”

Natasha was grinning like a damned Cheshire cat as she whispered the words.

Maria shifted her gaze away from the minx to look up at the headboard of the bed, and she found her wrist cuffed to one of the railings of the metal frame.

They’d returned from their long drive, both as satisfied as they were tired. They’d changed for the night and had _just_ gotten into their bed when the Russian had pulled her little stunt.

“In case you’ve forgotten,” Maria huffed, an eyebrow cocked up, “The cuffs are _fake.”_

 _“Of course,_ I remember,” Natasha answered, widening her smile, “Which is why it’ll be _interesting_ to see what you’re going to do about _this…”_

With that, the Russian proceeded to climb over Maria, her thighs straddling Maria’s hips, the fiendish glint in the green orbs visible even in the bare minimum illumination in the room, coming from the moonlight.

Maria turned her head to look beside her, making sure that Natasha’s sprained ankle wasn’t bent in the wrong angle. The injured foot was dangling slightly off the edge of the bed, sufficiently enough to not cause any pain, and Maria shifted her focus back to her girlfriend.

She brought her free hand up to grasp the redhead’s waist, but Natasha had predicted that and gripped her wrist. The Russian leaned forward, pushing Maria’s wrist into the mattress and then began kissing Maria’s exposed collarbone.

Natasha soon moved up, peppering kisses on Maria’s throat, and Maria immediately arched her neck, giving the woman access, her own breaths quickening. The redhead’s hand slipped under Maria’s shirt, the other one still pinning Maria’s wrist, gently but firmly. Natasha’s nails glided smoothly over Maria’s abs, and Maria’s hips bucked involuntarily, her cuffed hand curling into a tight fist.

Natasha laughed against her neck, the sound husky, “You’re free to take control, you know…”

Maria turned her face a little, her lips grazing the redhead’s ear, and she bit the skin lightly, right at the shell. And Natasha shivered, just as expected, a low moan escaping her lips.

“Who says I don’t have it _already…”_ Maria murmured, grinning even though she was panting.

 _“Goddammit,”_ Natasha growled, chuckling as she pulled back, _“This_ is what I’ve missed these past months…”

“The way you hold me in place,” the redhead whispered, her eyes hooded but still soft, _“Literally_ without moving a finger…”

And Maria knew the Russian meant that _more_ than just physically.

“I _don’t have to_ hold you in place,” Maria murmured, gazing up into her girlfriend’s emeralds.

In all honesty, she _couldn’t_ hold Natasha in place. Couldn’t _hold_ Natasha in place.

_Not if she doesn’t want to be here…_

“That door that you mentioned this morning…?” Maria said, a gentle smile on her lips, “It doesn’t matter whether I close it or not…”

Maria craned her neck and brushed her lips over the redhead’s, “I know you’re not going anywhere.”

Natasha gave her a much wider smile, her orbs iridescent despite the faint lighting in the room.

The Russian stretched her arm and released the cuff around Maria’s wrist, her gaze never wavering from Maria’s face. Maria brought her freed hand down and Natasha promptly grabbed it, pushing this wrist into the mattress as well, fixing both the hands immovably on either side of Maria’s head.

“Yeah, I won’t be going anywhere,” the redhead smiled, _“Because I’m yours.”_

The words were soft and devout. And _reverent,_ no doubt. But the grip over Maria’s wrists…? Maria couldn’t possibly flout. And Maria couldn’t help but laugh out.

“I’m yours,” Natasha whispered again, and then leaned forward, kissing Maria, slow and deep.

“But I’d want that door _closed_ right now,” the Russian purred, her voice low and sultry, “Don’t think you’d like the whole world to know what I’m going to do to you…”

“Well, I _did_ make the Widow fall for me,” Maria hummed against the redhead’s lips, “If the world wants to see that, let them see…”

“Must you keep making it rhyme…?” Natasha chuckled, pulling back a little, “Every _damn_ time…?”

“I could say the same thing to you,” Maria grinned back impishly, _“You_ just did it again too...”

The redhead shook her head fondly, and then she came forward, pressing her lips against Maria’s again. And Maria kissed her back eagerly, revelling in the ever-exceptional bliss of their lips moving in harmony.

“You’re an idiot sometimes, Hill,” Natasha murmured, pulling back just a tad, “Because you really, _really_ talk too much.”

“But you like me anyway,” Maria said, without missing a beat, taking a page out of her girlfriend’s book.

“No, I don’t like you,” the redhead whispered immediately, grinning widely, “I _love_ you.”

And before Maria could even say it back, Natasha leaned down and began trailing kisses up Maria’s jaw, the teeth grazing her skin leaving goose bumps in their wake.

And Maria just had to – _literally,_ she _had_ to – turn her neck to give the redhead access.

There wasn’t much she could do besides that, because her thighs were _still_ trapped under the Russian’s, and her wrists were _still_ pinned against the mattress.

 _It’s a prison of some sort,_ Maria thought, shivering as her girlfriend’s breath tickled the hairs on her nape.

A prison she never wanted to escape. 

_Fin._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure if you noticed, but the chapter names rhyme. Sorry, I'm a complete and utter sucker for all stuff that rhymes (surely that's obvious, since it happens in the story so many times). Ha, did it again. (In my defence, I never claimed that the rhymes would be good...)
> 
> And, since this story is set a whole year after the previous one, I really hope I've managed to show glimpses of all that time. I did try my best. 
> 
> Also, Ouro Preto (the name of the city with Hill's house, it's mentioned in the first chapter) is a legit town in Brazil. And it's so quaint and pretty. And they actually do have a carnaval parade there. 
> 
> And the, uh... the backstory. Just... God, I don't even know what I want to say about it.


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